NationStates Jolt Archive

[OOC: Invite only/only people I know may RP in this thread]

Silence boomed around her, sheathing her in its violent emptiness.

Void.

A hand, raised. An eye, opening. A twinkling amber eye glints in the ever-shining Sun; the iris contracts, closing the pupil to the bright light-

Her vision clears. The Sun blazes above the horizon, Her light a welcoming warmth on an otherwise chilly morning. Uncommonly chilly, at that - and worst of all: it was damp. Three months of winter - and always cold in the mornings. But not usually this cold.

Her footsteps clipped against the cobbled stones, the gentle sole of her boots making nary a scuff at her softly placed footsteps. Elsewhere, she knew, he was beginning his journey.

The city, aside from two souls, was empty. All work had to grind to a halt, today, of all days: today was a celebration. Today the Empire took on its second leader; its first female leader - not saying much, considering the severe lacking in quantity of leaders in the Empire's brief history - and its first true member of the ux-Rihad dynasty. Si Ling had been a halfblood; Bao had been a halfblood; Rialla was a Bloodline bearing Empress.

Considered mightier in Nenyan culture, the Bloodline's were central. Which was why Rialla wore entirely rustic red, from head to toe. Only her silky lengths of cascading locks halted the blood-red flow of her dress; and pronounced the youthful lady's curves all the more subtly for it.

* * *

She had walked for miles, it seemed. Endless empty streets - with gardens for roads - and uneven ground was beginning to be of faint irritation. Nenya Palace, however, was ahead; Parade Approach was, unfortunatley, six miles long.

A severe problem. However... tradition dictated that she walk it.

And so she did.

* * *

He walked slower than she did. He knew it. She was relishing her ascendance; he was not relishing his. Indeed, he had fought this day. Had fought it, that is, until the day of D'ron's wedding...

He hauled himself back to the present, the feel of Rialla's gentle palm pressed to his lingering as a ghost at his side - and in his mind.

He silences his mind, aware of the law against mental fraternisation upon this day - no Nenyan would be touching any other in that way. Today was the day of the physical; tomorrow would be the day of the spiritual.

He marched, increasing pace unconsciously - thoughts of his brother, Randur, boiled forth. He had never hated Randur; he had hated his actions, however.

But never the Nenyan; just the acts.

His keen eyes caught the back of her head, far away in the distance. A smile lifted his gently curved lips into a cheerful visage of joy; his nervousness evaporated, and he only became aware of it once his step lifted, lightened, and his feet could no longer carry him fast enough.

He strode on, the gates approaching, and he surpassed them with ease, his mind urging him on - his mind shivering at the restraint placed upon it-

* * *

Rialla awaited. She sat at the throne afore the front door of Nenya Palace; the building and the forest surround stretched around her for miles in every direction. Vast, indeed. And to each of her shoulders, behind and up, the eye is drawn. For hovering nonchalantly behind her are two symbols of the might of the Empire; the M# interceptor... and the X# fighter. M# on the left; X# on the right.

Perhaps disturbingly, they are real.

Parade Avenue abruptly fills with military hardware. Dropships hurtle out of the sky with disturbing speed and accuracy - and within a minute and a half thirty thousand soldiers are lined up on Parade Avenue. Commands in Nenyan ring out, sing-song orders drifting on the morning breeze...

And now the crowds are allowed forward from inside forest Waiting Zones; cleared of trees - the trees are actually replanted elsewhere, to prevent loss - and with plenty of sitting room. The crowds are now, however, ushered out; for the Coronotation Ceremony always begins directly after the Long Lonely Walk Among Many.

[OOC: Okay. Allies, fellow SATO members, Triumvirate of Yut nations are allowed to participate only - in an official capacity. Anyone else is free to post having tourists here; but they may not engage in illegal activity, or do anything stupid like try to shoot the Empress. If they do, the response will be quite boring, and so not worthwhile at all.

Nations who aren't directly allied but may attend officially (some are repeated in categories):

Any TofY member nation
Any SATO member
Menelmacar
The Territory
Whispering Voices
Melkor Unchained
Kalessin

There are others. If you are unsure, then please TG me and I'll let ya know if its okay to post and in what capacity it is ok to post.

Finally: this takes place one week and five days ahead of the present moment in time. I run EOTED in real-time for the most part, so that is one week and five days game time.]

[OOC: I'm a SATO member I believe. But due to my Joe Average RP level, I will try not to mess this up... Sorry if I did...]

IC:

Honjak Zee, the infamous Omzian, stood near the crowd.

There's must be something going on here..., he thought, quite confused. As he looked at his book of Travel to EOTED: the Guide, nothing was found about this. Then, he looked at his other booklet...

Hmm... I'll continue to watch this... ceremony of some sorts... Or should I ask a native about this, if they understand Omzian or English, that is?, He wondered...

[OOC: Tagged]

OOC: I never get invited to these things. Congrats anyway.

Meh...

[OOC: I'm a SATO member I believe. But due to my Joe Average RP level, I will try not to mess this up... Sorry if I did...]

IC:

Honjak Zee, the infamous Omzian, stood near the crowd.

There's must be something going on here..., he thought, quite confused. As he looked at his book of Travel to EOTED: the Guide, nothing was found about this. Then, he looked at his other booklet...

Hmm... I'll continue to watch this... ceremony of some sorts... Or should I ask a native about this, if they understand Omzian or English, that is?, He wondered...

A polite young human male, with backswept brown hair and dark brown eyes - and a flashing smile - claps a friendly hand on the tourist's shoulder. "Hey, you like, look confused, man," he calls out over the noise of the crowd, "but this is like the Coronation of the Empress, man. You know?"

One might recall that cannabis is legal in the Empire.

Honjak, suddenly, turned his head, and of course, smiled gently.

"I see, thanks for the infomation. A new tourist here, you know, just arrived 2 days ago from the faraway nation of Omz222. Still trying to get used to here..." He slightly laughed, although, being the shy and serious person he is.

When saying his words, he also thought, the people are nice here, I like it. It gave him a warm welcome to EOTED.

"Om- Yeah, I know it," suffices - just how the hell do you pronounce that, anyway, the young Turathian wondered.

"Anyway, welcome to the Empire, man."

The youth grins.

"Sure, thanks..." Honjak said, easily, with a slight laughter.

They talk like those Omzian gangs too? Or am I wrong?, Honjak thought, thinking the people in EOTED don't usually talk like that.

The Gilthoniel approached; and Siri had begun the latest of many visits to Ma-Nenya. The ship's pilots opened the usual contacts with traffic control, requesting permission to land... and also requesting parking space. One does not, after all, simply set a 350-m-long ship down just anywhere.

http://www.weirdozone.0catch.com/projects/nationstates/sirithil/sirithilnosfeanor.gifLady Sirithil nos Fëanor
Elentári of the Eternal Noldorin Empire of Menelmacar
"If it is to be war between us, it shall be war to the knife and the knife to the hilt."
~Foreign Minister Duke Paolio, The Outlands
We Love the Iraqi Information Minister (http://www.welovetheiraqiinformationminister.com)
Clicky-clicky!

SCOUT-459SS blended seamlessly into the crowd, indistinguishable from the countless other humans gawking in awe at the ceremony unfolding. However, 459SS was here for a different reason than most; part of Mallberta's expansive covert operative division, he was here to feel out the sentiments of the people as a whole. He sought divisions; resentment perhaps of this unelected despot.

To his dissapointment, the masses seemed almost entirely supportive of the admittedly beautiful and charismatic Empress. There was no sense of anger or frustration whatsoever, and 459SS was an empath of some reknown in certain circles.

No matter: if discordance could not be found, it could always be created.

[OOC: Err, forgive the awful national anthem...]

IC:

The crowd cheers as a lilting, gentle music begins.

Rolling out across the city as a hundred marching bands pick up their places - amplified, if course, by thousands of speaker systems throughout Nenya - and... it was, of course, the national anthem.

Slowly, at first, the song is taken up by the Nenyan Citizens and the EOTED National Citizens present - and there are millions in parks and streets throughout the city gathering peacefully by now.

For Empress and Empire;
Humility, the dream
The watchers are awaiting
And long will roll the stream;

The Empire! The Empire!
Land of plentiful mercy
The Empire! The Empire!
Power and glory told
The Empire! The Empire!
Forever we stand firm;
The Empire! The Empire
Of the Eternal Dawn!

For love and faith and honour
For hope and futures found;
For peace and truth
We rally round;

The Empire! The Empire!
Land of plentiful mercy
The Empire! The Empire!
Power and glory told
The Empire! The Empire!
Forever we stand firm;
The Empire! The Empire
Of the Eternal Dawn!

Long live the Empire, in all it's untold glory
For we have all eternity
To tread the Paths we find;
Weaving out ahead of us
And often hard to find...

...Yet falter not nor tarry long...

...Ahead we ever tread
For our fire burns as ever has
And forever unified we stand!

The Empire! The Empire!
Land of plentiful mercy
The Empire! The Empire!
Power and glory told
The Empire! The Empire!
Forever we stand firm;
The Empire! The Empire
Of the Eternal Dawn!

The singing is sweet in tone; Nenya is the capital of the Empire, but humans are not so dominant in number here.

There are forty million Quendi in Nenya; and fifty-five million Nenyans. And almost all are coming out - for all love to celebrate. Really, they don't care why, half the time - they just love to celebrate.

The sweet, lilting mix of tones and qualities lifts into the air, bringing patriotic overtones to the fore on a day of great celebration (and hopefully happiness - Player) for the Empire and perhaps some of her allies.

But the man from Omz222 spoke to a human - a tourist, at that, from Shelbattanu, and not Nenya.

All around him are gleaming amber eyed faces, red and singing joyously - some patting each other on the back (some, indeed, are quite nude, but this is rare). Pointed ears can be spotted here and there. Human faces are common also, but many are Nenyanified (local expression) - their accent and mannerisms are similar to their truly Nenyan (the species rather than the people who live in the place alone) cousins.

* * *

The singing is a dull roar at Nenyan Air Traffic Control (Alpha node).

CivTrafAirCommOp #4a - usually known as Rarn - had the 'privelige' of guiding the skies for the evening.

He cried with joy.

Inwardly.

Well, not really at all. He was irritated. No, no, he was angry, he was distraught, he was willing to guide two aircraft into each other...

Naw, he decided. The wife would kill me.

Actually, he did very little. Most incoming were directed by Sarah. Although she was known as ATC-C to the pilots. Some called her Atchy, though she did not like it...

"CTACO-4a, I have a high-priority incoming. Menelmacari ship Gilthoniel on approach; requesting LZ. Standing orders state appropriation of dropships for transport to the Palace; rerouting already - M#s are also being deployed as an honour guard for the Gilthoniel. Dropships should arrive before the Gilthoniel, CTACO-4a. Inform them thus. Acknowledged?"

Rarn snorted. "Yeah. Got it."

Damned ASIs. Taking over everything. Soon they'll have an ASI Empress, and then we'll all be their slaves... naw. You fantasize too much, Rarn. And we all know where you're little mind was going with that one-

"-Gilthoniel this is EOTED Air Traffic Control. Read and record. If read and record is not a function available to you, then please inform me once I finish, and I will set this transmission to repeat. - Gilthoniel, you are cleared for direct park at position alpha one four four seven, Nenya International Airport. NavPacket is included with the transmission; microwave beams are available to guide you in if you remain unfamiliar with the area. M# interceptors have been diverted to provide honour guard escort service, Gilthoniel.

"Air transport will take however many will comprise the Menelmacari party directly from NIA to NIPAF - that's Nenya International Airport to Nenya Imperial Palace Airfield - for the Coronation. The Empire extends a warm greeting to its eternal allies. Long live the Alliance! Over."


[OOC: Siri: just arrive at the Palace. Twas for flavour, mostly. :)

Slutbum Wallah: you may send a delegation or you may send tourists. Up to you.

Mallberta: interesting. Run with it a little, but ask me about anything more than considering an act on irc before postage please, aye. Thanks. :)]

A single Imperial Shuttle approached the Bay of Turath under Raven escort. As they aprroached EOTED airspace, the Ravens veered off in separate directions, wheeling back out over the ocean. Inside the ship, the pilot picks up his speaker: "EOTED AT control, this is Imperial Shuttle Two. Requesting landing vector. Over."

He reached to the console and hooked the speaker back into its place, awaiting a response from Air Traffic Control. He scowled. I hate flying to this freaking place, he thought, memories of the War flashing back into his mind for a terrible moment, vanishing a second later as he composes himself. In the back of the craft, his passengers patiently awaited their arrival.

Melkor, Lord of Darkness
He who Arises in Might
Emperor Eternal of the Imperial Dominion of Melkor Unchained, Lord and Master of Arda
http://people.vanderbilt.edu/~darion.c.smith/melkor.jpg

The metallic voice of Sarah, artificial semantic intelligence warrior mastermind of the Battle of the Bay guides the Imperium shuttle in with a cold, grating, "Follow the yellow brick road. Five minute flyaround. Airspace is clear, except Zone 15, all altitudes."

A low intensity microwave beam marks out the flight path into Nenya International Airport, intersecting with the appropriate portion of the incoming shuttle to guide it in.

*Has tourists in the Empire.*
*Has them take pictures.*
*Has them make films.*
*Has them buy some drinks.*
*Has them delivered to their hotel after a good night out in the city...*
*Has them tag thread*

ooc: Let's just assume this takes place after the William coronation ok? And we get permission to land and are taken with some form of transport to the palace.
ic: Dear Rialla.

I would like to congratulate you on going to be being crowned empress of the Empire of the Eternal Dawn.
I William Xylon of New Avalon and Nataliya Vitalievna Vyazemskaya shall attend your coronation.
I wish you best of luck.

~William Xylon of New Avalon.

William was dressed in a formal blue uniform. http://www2.freepichosting.com/Images/65035/0.jpg Complete with a 53" sword. Accompanying William was Nataliya. She wore a long firery red dress.
They slowly walked up to the palace.

Whispering Voices - invited to attend, bizarrely, despite the on-off hostilities between the two countries - sent Frank Besson fresh from his assignment in Diablo_NL to the coronation - sans bodyguard. Frank realised one bodyguard wouldn't help against anything that got through Ma-Tek's security - or, for that matter, Ma-Tek's security itself.

He arrives quietly, a single simple diplomatic passenger jet requesting permission from the EOTED airspace control to land, flashing across diplomatic protocols. Positively antiquated compared to many of the other craft there, nevertheless it lands gracefully on the airfield, a picture-perfect landing. Frank, alone this mission, takes a deep breath of the Nenyan air - not cleaner than Whispering Voices', as such, but without the unpleasant sensation of breathing in ice crystals from the cold.

Smiling happily as he looks, he descends the aircraft ramp with barely a glance back at the pretty stewardess framed in the doorway. Well, not much of a glance. It wasn't too long, at any rate not long enough to be noticed by any of the security guards - which was the important thing.

Mile high club, there I was! Frank laughs to himself. A Ma-Tek escort - a limousine that may or may not be hovering so low to the ground it's hard to tell - picks him up and takes him to the palace.

Cavile gazed out of his window, his eyes drinking in the reflection of the rising sun upon the still waters of the ocean. Taking his lyre in his hand, he began to play softly, singing a gentle ode to the dawn. All was tranquil.

Then a knock on the door of his chamber disturbed the fragile peace. The thought that whipped from his mind was edged with steel.

Enter. I trust that this is important.

Kluy cautiously opened the door, and stepped inside, his eyes fearful under his high-crested helm.

"I have some information which might interest you my lord. About the coronation in the Empire of the Eternal Dawn."

"Continue."

"My informants have told me that Elentari Sirith...."

Cavile leapt to his feet, his music and the view forgotton.

"Sirithil will be there? You must prepare to leave immediately. Make sure that you and the men are attired suitably."

And with that he strode swiftly from the room, heading into his wardrobe.

Huor sat waiting to hear from the Farseer Council about the EDF.

Huor: Surely they must have received the ships by now? What is keeping them.

Young Bob: Incoming transmission on a private channel sir.

Huor: What have I told you about calling me sir?

Young Bob: Sorry s...Huor

A personal invite to the Coronation is extended to Huor by the Imperial Father Si Ling. He requests that you attend, and, once the Ceremony is completed, enjoy a brief private audience with his Imperial Highness the Imperial Father. We await your response.


Huor: A personal invite to the Coronation...

Nerwen: That ass-kissing really works.

Huor: Stop creeping up on me! Young Bob, reply that I would be honoured to attend the Ceremony and meet the Imperial Father Si Ling. Also ask if they could send a transport to pick me up. I don’t know if we will have received our part of the EDF by then.

Mintar hopes that the new leader of EOTED will be more reasonable than the last one.

(OOC: and not attack Mintar/allies because of a war on Melkor. :wink: )

A lonely ship was making its way towards orbital position above EOTED.
It was the Private ship of the Grand Duke - the "Blaze of Universe" light cruiser.

http://www.digikitten.com/playhousev2/files/Mishgan/GDPrivateCruiser.jpg

The Grand Duke sat by a rather large table near one of the panoramic windows opening a view of the planet. He was in his parade uniform, he was a man that appeared to be around 60 years old, but he was in reality MUCH older than that, due to certain particularities of the Dynasty, of the same particularity that was proper to 10% of the taraskovyan population. After all, he did reign for a good 80 years now.
Mikhail Shakhovskoy was gazing into the window, relaxing.

Facing him was the High Commander of the TNDF, Leib-Marshal, Leib-Duke Valery Berilov, the old and loyal friend of the Grand Duke, that was also older than he seemed...
By the Chief of the Military was sitting what may be qualified of his direct opponent - the High Councilor of the Duchy, Leib-Count Alexei Nemirov.
Yet again - same story...

The three men sat calm, each one thinking about the near future. This trip would most surely be the last trip that the Grand Duke would make as head of state. His son, the heir, was soon to be crowned himself...

But for now - all three sat quiet and gazed into the window on the stars deep in space...

- Your heighness, we are reaching coordinates in estimated 4 minutes, - a voice of one of the pilots resonated in the lobby, - please proceed to the shuttle, sire.

- Well, my friends - time to go...

The Grand Duke spoke as he rose from his armschair. Already at the entry of the lobby were waiting two Alexander Guards, in their deep blue heavy armor.
The three dignitaries went out of the main lobby and went towards the launching bay for the Duke's shuttle. The Cruiser itself was small, so everything was pretty close to each other...

By the entrance of the shuttle stood two more Alexander Guards. They let the dignitaries enter and then the four guards entered themselves...
And in the shuttle itself were, who would have guessed, four more guards, in deep blue armor...

- Valera... Do you remember my telling you not to bring the entire Taraskovyan army over with us? And what have you done?

- But, sire, only eight guards is minimal... - the Leib-Marshal clearely had his own understand of the phrase "keeping security to a necessary ceremonial minimal".

- Eight Alexander Guards, Valera, eight Alexander Guards... And no one other than you knows best what are they capable of...

- Yes, sire...

The Grand Duke smiled and took position in an armschair, with the two High Councilors following his example. The guards took places throughout the shuttle, which was made to carry a total of 12 passengers...

- Attention Cruiser pilot team, this is shuttle pilot team. Passengers on board. Ship ready for launch.

- Affirmative, shuttle, establishing link with ground AT service.

The shuttle pilots made the last checks and began waiting for the sgnal to open the bay gates...

- Attention EOTED Air Traffic Control, this is Blaze of Universe. Requesting approach vectors and clearence to land for an orbital shuttle as well as geosynch position coords for the cruiser. Repeat. Requesting approach vectors and clearence to land for an orbital shuttle and geosynch position coords for the cruiser itself. Over to you...

This was the first time ever that a Taraskovyan vessel penetrated EOTED airspace, so the automatism of data exchange between the pilots and ATC was yet non-existant...

[OOC: What I mean by Geosynch position coords is somewhere where I could put the light cruiser on "stationary orbit" without bumping into a sattelite or something, since well - I don't want my cruiser to land, the shuttle is more than enough :) ]

The Byzantine nobility made haste towards EOTED, traveling by air. sea, and space.

Dukes, Duchesses, Barons, Baroness, Viscounts, Viscountesses, Earls, Countesses, Baronets, Baronettes, Lords, Ladies, Knights, Knightesses, and of course the Royal family, Empress, Emporer, Crown Prince, Princesses, and Princes.

Many Gentlemen, Knights, Ladies, and Lords arrived in bulk in commercial aircraft bringing little to pay homage to the new Empress.

Yet the higher Nobility(Barons/Baronesses and higher) brought large sums of gold, jewelry, and other precious materials.

The Basilicius himself, was to deliver one of the crown jewels to the Empress.

In all, approximately 5,000 Byzantine nobelmen and nobelwomen made their way to the coronation.

In all, approximately 5,000 Byzantine nobelmen and nobelwomen made their way to the coronation.

[OOC: :shock:
Well, I am used to small delegations, some people are used to large ones :?
Besides - most my own nobility couldn't come since they are preparing for the coronation of my own :? ]

Some time later, the Imperial shuttle touched down at the Nenya International Airport, and after a short taxi, the hatch opened slowly and out stepped Lord Alkanphel himself. Peering through his slitted eyes at the busy terminal, he scowled slightly as he stepped onto the tarmac. a number of Imperial dignitaries followed behind him, with a marked air of nervousness. They knew that there would be someone out there looking to give them trouble.

The party winds its way through the crowded airport, and eventually they come out to the city itself, the thoroughfares busy with well-wishers and other assorted types. Looking for some sort of designated space for foriegn dignitares, the party meandered slowly through the streets, most people cautiously stepping aside as Alkanphel approaches.

D'ron turned to Lesley. "We're going to be late," he said in an exasperated voice.

"Cortana knows when we have to bee there."

"I know, I know."

********

A few minutes later a glimmer would appear on the scopes in the Empire of Eternal Dawn.

Apparently, during his honeymoon, D'ron had given up on his dislike of space travel. Though going to the Ring, it would have been hard not to.

"This is the Sentient Peoples Ship Forbidden Honor to EOTED ground control. Requesting Landing Clearance to attend the Empress-in-waiting's Coronation." D'ron's voiced echoed in the airwaves as he brought the ship to a halt in sight of the EOTED space colony.

Forbidden Honor lacked the chunkiness of the normal Federation starships, instead having flowing, nearly aerodynamic lines. It carried a new generation drive, combining the existing inertialess drive with a field manipulator, allowing to travel in atmosphere considerably more safely than previous Federation starships. It's hundred fifty meter length would not fit just anywhere, so D'ron waited for precise landing instructions. It would be good to crash into any of the large amount of traffic down there.

A technical officer aboard "Blaze of Universe" was doing some routine checks in the machinery section before the confirmation of vectors by EOTED ATC and the launch of the shuttle, when he bumped his head against an opened panel.

- ...! - he yelled in anger - ...!

The Cruiser was still over EOTED space, the shuttle was still in the cruiser's launch bay and the Grand Duke and the two High Councilors were still in the shuttle, playing 4D Tetris on a holoprojection in a 3 player mode.

The Leib-Marshal won... again...

The Grand Duke stood up from the controls, walked up to the pilots compartement and said six words:

- Why is it taking so long?

- Pardon, your heighness, the EOTED ATC seems to be reprocessing the demand...

The Grand Duke nodded and went back into the passenger compartment and put himself back to playing 4D Tetris with the High Councilors.
One of the shuttle pilots leaned to the other one and said quietly.

- You sure it is the reason for the delay? I mean - you sure the ATC is reprocessing the demand... ?

- How the hell do I know!

Both pilots were silent, then one of them opened the comms link to cruiser crew and said six words:

- Why is it taking so long?

The answer was immediate and very clear.

- We don't know!

And all went on as before, the cruiser crew sent the message over to the EOTED ATC again...

- Attention EOTED Air Traffic Control, this is Blaze of Universe. Requesting approach vectors and clearence to land for an orbital shuttle as well as geosynch position coords for the cruiser. Repeat. Requesting approach vectors and clearence to land for an orbital shuttle and geosynch position coords for the cruiser itself. Over to you...

Back in the shuttle, the Grand Duke finally won a game...

Each incoming aircraft is smoothly directed to it's correct LZ by Sarah and the Nenyan ATC, and then smoothly handed over to GTC when taxiing orders are required. This may sound a simple matter - but it isn't. As they are landing in Nenya, and none of the pilots coming in have ever landed here before (probably), they'd find it hard to visually find the city below. It's nigh on visible; only the keenest eye would spot the faintest glint of bronze amidst the endless green of Nenya Forest - the forest into which the city is built. As the plane comes in, the forest would appear to part onto the airport - and the city is just about visible, glinting through the tree's that surround Nenya International.

Once the aircraft - no matter which one - lands, and the dignitaries pile out, they are all met by IDFI agents. The IDFI agents bow, smiling, and inform them that their transport will arrive 'momentarily'.

Naturally, Nenyan timing comes into effect, and the Fancy for each group arrives exactly as the letter 'y' passes through their lips.

The Fancy's are, of course, plushly furnished on the inside. As usual, hanging tapestries cover the walls - and are tailored to suit the culture of each group or dignitary. Warlike cultures are greeted by images of great Nenyan battles; peaceable types are greeted by images of great Nenyan scientists, or artisans, or simple tapestries of scenes from inside the Empire.

All dignitaries are taken directly to the Palace, where they are lead into and through a plethora of corridors from the rear diplomatic door - where the Foreign Entrance Hall sits. The Hall is fairly large, with the massive tapestry of Semir-randil now joined by an equally sized image of the Empress-in-Waiting, Rialla.

Through a door and down the corridors, then up a short set of stairs, the dignitaries are each in turn lead into a huge room. Couches, seats, chairs, and all manner of comfortable sitting utensils adorn the majority of the room - as well as tables packed with food. Menelmacari food appears dominant; but Nenyan delicacies such as minor'ralsha (a cheese dish that melts on the tongue) and cur'tarn (an apetizer that literally slithers down the throat) are in evidence. Food representing every nationality present is, of course, available - in smaller quantities. There is no alcohol present, of course, but only water or fruit juices. Nenyans aren't big on alcohol - it's fairly useless to them, after all - and they didn't much want a bunch of drunk foreign diplomats staggering around anyway.

Meanwhile, outside, at each of the four IDF GF bases strategically positioned around Nenya (all of them alongside IDF AF airfields), dress-uniform toting soldiers march in the queer toe-down step that Nenyan military parades prefer; their pure gold buttons on the uniforms gleam in the bright early Sun as they converge, through the streets on pre-designated routes that avoid the civilian marching bands, on Nenya Palace.

Meanwhile, at the Palace, a thousand soldiers snap into existance on either side of the Empress and Semir-randil.

With a bellow in Nenyan, they all draw their swords, and, one by one, march around an elaborate square towards the Empress in waiting. Each soldier - and all wear the brightly arrogant colours of the Imperial Palace Guard - then kneels, lays their sword at the feet of the Empress-in-Waiting, recieves a touch of her finger to the top of their head, and then retrieves their sword and marches back into their position in the line.

NIA Approach

They weren't huge as warships go, and they didn't make a fuss. But Oggun and his escorts reflected a design tradition as obsessive as the Empire's; obsessed not with nonlethality but with lethality.

The cruisers Oggun and Brock glide above the forested city, rustle of wind and the scream of thermal dumps surrounding them, destroyer escorts and array of semiautonomous battle platforms.

Shortly, Oggun's elongated-hexagonal bulk hovers delicately a few feet over the sward. A boarding ramp deploys and the woman riding it down strides off to meet the IDFI agents, with close-lipped smiles and courteous nods.

Palace

She's spent a brief while regarding the fine tapestries and delicately sipping fruit juice. Now, centered, Renate von Saucken enters the Foreign Entrance Hall.

After receiving landing permissions and locations from EOTED Air Control, the Forbidden Honor sliced into the atmosphere above Lodoss. The drive field began to glow as friction heated it.

And then, at ten kilometers above the ground, the Forbidden Honor turned nose down. D'ron laughs as he boosts the engines, forcing the ship groundward. 175 meters from the ground, the ship slammed to a halt. It hung in the air, pointed at its landing pad. D'ron swung his ship about the nose, rotating the aft end through 270 degrees, and settling the ship to the ground with nary a sound.

A doorway irised open, and a ramp extended to the ground.

D'ron appeared at the top of the ramp, dressed in his traditional black outfit, floor length cape, lined in gold, flowing behind him, Kánomegil hanging at his side. Lesley was on his arm, dressed uncharacteristically in black as well. Her floor length dress was split up the leg, and cut generously in front, but not overly much. She wore simple jewelry, a gold choaker, a gold bracelet on her right wrist, her wedding band and her engagement ring, and a gold linked clain about her waist as a belt, with a dagger that matched Kánomegil hung from it. She wore slightly heeled black sandals to complete the outfit. Her form was draped in a white gauze cloak, that fluttered in the breeze.

Next at the top of the ramp was Cortana, lithe form shrouded in a heavy black cape. As she walked forward, she was revealed to be wearing a sleeveless dark purple leather jumpsuit, with black heeled boots. Around her thin waist was a golden scarf as a belt, on which hung a long dagger.

Following her by a step was Jessica, dress in a white, form-fitting jumpsuit, with white leather boots, slightly heeled. Her dark brown hair contrasted greatly with the white of the cape she wore on her shoulders, which was lined in silver. A silver belt was slung low across her hips, with a highly decorated combat knife on either side.

As soon as they were all to the bottom of the ramp, D'ron turned and said clearly, "Honor, SecOneA."

A blonde female hologram, in a stylized Federation SN uniform, appeared at the bottom of the ramp, as the ramp slid back inside the craft. "Of course, sir. Might I ask when you shall return?"

"I'm not sure, but we shouldn't be gone more than 24 hours. I'll call if plans change."

The hologram nodded and disappeared. The door was sealed, by this point.

D'ron turned forward again, and the party was greeted by the Imperial Representative, whom he was quite aware was Intelligence, even if they chose not to admit it.

Aboard the Fancy, D'ron examined what appeared to be aerial view of the capital city, but it was different from his recollection of moments ago, when landing. It looked the same, but somehow the artist had managed to make the city more visible, without changing the appearance any. It bothered him for a moment, but his eye was drawn to be beach landscape along the Bay of Turath. He remembered a dream once, seeing that bay torn apart by nuclear explosions, a massive wall of water crushing the city of Turath, killing millions. Worse, in the dream, it had been by his orders.

But now was not the time to dwell on that.

Now it was a time of joy.

Cortana knew much of the layout of the Palace, and plotted her postion, internally to the places she had been before, when they party entered into the Foreign Entrance Hall. Of course, D'ron and Lesley had to been to the Palace before, but not through this entrance. Oddly enough, during the summit, they had not come through here. Jessica, of course, was the only one to have never been to the Palace, or EOTED at all for that matter. She was quite impressed by the immensity of it all.

The food was amazing, and the juices were different, yet flavorful.

And then they stood back to watch the ceremony.

The ADK officials, the nobles, are all met by IDFI agents.

They are greeted kindly, smiled at; their hands are shaken. Warm, friendly greetings, in fact; too warm. Too friendly.

Like all the others, they are taken to private transport.

Like all the others, their Fancy is tailored to their culture - bloody battle scenes are depicted on the tapestries.

Unlike all the others, they are not taken to the Palace. They may think they are, at first - but the Fancy lands, and when they are lead out (with warm, friendly words still), they may each note the strange fact that they stand at the edge of a giant military complex.

Turath Primary Ground Forces Base.

Soldiers, with US wands slung, greet them.

The lead officer informs the group of nobles, once assembled:

"You are all under arrest for crimes against sentients. You have the right to legal representation, and nothing you say will be used against you in a court of law. You have all the rights and priveliges accorded to an EOTED national; you will not be permitted to incriminate yourselves with any statement, question, or action from this point onwards.

"You will face trial here in the Empire, at the Imperial Criminal Court. Independant observers will be allowed to be present at the trial. You will now be taken to holding cells."

The officer smiles, coldly, as the nobles are lead away gently by the soldiers - unless they struggle. In which case they are knocked unconscious, and put on MI stretchers... and carried away gently to their cells.

"I hope you have a pleasant stay in the Empire of the Eternal Dawn."

Frank looked, impressed, at the pictures of Nenyan battles on the inside of the escort vehicle. He wasn't over-impressed, mind, since he personally had no taste for conflict at all - at least, not physical conflict. Hence his status as a diplomat.

However, the beauty of Ma-Nenya touched him deeply ... a plethora of beautiful arboreal cityscapes, the buildings complemennting the trees just so, the ... ah, it was too wonderful to put words to. The deep, dark and snow-white forests of Whispering Voices where neither man nor beast dared live seemed, in a memory touched by the sight of Ma-Nenya, even more foreboding and cruel than ever.

It was with a melancholy expression on his face and an ache in his heart that Frank was led into the reception hall. Wasting no time in helping himself to non-Whispering Voices foods (he knew as well as anyone that only a Yorkshire-province woman could make a Yorkshire pudding, all others were pale imitations) and some grape juice (no wine, but at least vaguely close) he looked around the other guests, a few there before him and - presumably - others yet to arrive.

With a smile, he headed towards Renate von Saucken.

Renate von Saucken looks her usual dapper self - that is, dapper if you really and truly believe that a khaki uniform (clean at least) over a dark grey gelsuit is dapper. Some people might want to call her a knuckle-walking goon. Most wouldn't, believing that she'd be offended. And she does look rather violent; rather androgynous from slim hips and muscle development, skin tanned a rich oak brown, almost-glowing green eyes under sun-bleached blonde hair in tied-back short dreadlocks.





As Frank Besson walks up, she moves slightly into a pose approximating attention, just happening to finish her glass. Definite ramrod up that backside, yes. Slight smile, odd, not showing any teeth. As he offers his hand, she steps in slightly too close, offering her hands in a Roman manner. "Pleased to make your acquaintance, Ambassador Besson."

The flight, as always, had been a welcome joy. She relished the feeling of 'oneness' with her shuttle, The Tempest, calling up the virtual display and disengaging the jump drive.

She followed the standard protocols instinctively now, requesting clearance, awaiting approach instructions, and plotting a proper re-entry course. As excpected, the landing had become routine, though she didn't enjoy it any less on account. She landed smoothly at her assigned destination, went through all her post-flight proceedures, shut down, and jacked out with a soft sigh of regret.

I will never, never tire of flying. The thought brought a smile to her face as she gracefully stood, straightening her dress, then made her way back to the hatch, and down the rampway.

Taking in the view with a nonchalant yet pleased expression, she politely greets the IDF agents, thanking them in a soft voice before entering the Fancy. She spends the trip admiring the artistry of the tapestries, examining them with a knowing eye, taking her ease as if none of this is at all outside her experience ... though indeed, it is.

Upon arrival, she enters the Palace with a quiet confidence. She walks with her head high, though she remains just short of arrogant in her stance, observing everything, logging it away for later perusal. The enormous tapestries are impressive, and she arches her brows slightly as she looks them over.

Ah well, there is no accounting for some cultures and their penchant for near idolatry of their rulers. Beautifully done, but so help me ... I'd just as soon not see my own face plastered across the Dominion in such a manner. Decadence.

Her eyes do light up at the fare spread before them - Dominion culture often revolved around the sharing of food, and hospitality was greatly valued. It wouldn't be a proper event without, in her opinion, and she was quite impressed. Delicately taking small samples of several different dishes, along with a few of her favorites, she savoured the new tastes, quietly observing the other delegates, putting names to faces for those she knew of, and making a note to find out the others. Ice water was all she wanted or needed to sate her thirst, and she was pleased to see it in abundance.

When the time comes, she watches the ceremony of Rialla accepting the service of her soldiers, nodding quietly. A different sort of thing, to be sure. A people heavily steeped in tradition and their own honor code - an ancient civilization compared to her own. Though archaic, and heavily laden with symbolism, she found the proceedings quite appropriate, and indeed, nostalgic when thought of in terms of the Dominion's age old past and the times of city states and Doges. It reminded her of living history, on an entirely different level.

It was all terribly beautiful. The people, the countryside, the food, the ceremony ... And yet, it held a coolness that her own nation lacked. She had yet to see the fire in these oddly reserved people. Given the reputation, she was sure such must exist somewhere.

Oddly enough, she looked forward to seeing it.

Well. I would do the standard bow-kiss-hand procedure here, but with that stance and attitude I'm not sure if she wouldn't take it as an insult. I think a simple shake will be in order here. Although that's not how you shake hands, either. Still, imitation is the sincerest form of flattery ...

He replicates her gesture, holding his own hands palm upwards - but only briefly, before reaching out to firmly grasp her hand and shake it. Voices being an English country in nature, he subconsciously steps back slightly - a merest shuffle, meant to keep Renate at the preferred distance for personal space of five feet as opposed to the more European distance of merely three. It's an age-old shuffle, repeated by stand-offish diplomats - often English, too - around the world.

"And an honour to meet you, Advisor von Saucken." He looks around the room. No, she'll not appreciate small talk either, in all likelihood. "Isn't it lovely here? Do you think the accession of Riallia to replace Si Ling will be a boon for the internation community, then?"

After the brief dance of conflicting protocols, Renate shakes Frank's hand in what is after all the established form of greeting. Odd, we're in the promised land of edged weapons - I'd want to check me for knives. It's a strong hand, and rather hot. Firm grip.



She drifts back a bit herself so he won't be the only one retreating.

"It's one of the most beautiful cities I know, Ambassador. A good place for a coronation" Beat. Close-lipped smile, genuinely delighted-looking crinkle of eyes. "I really, truly have no idea what the long-term effects will be, Ambassador. This is a fascinating culture, don't you think?"

The wall, it has turned out, is completely see-through on command. This is how the proceedings are viewed; apparently this is yet another application of the nanotech craze that appears to be sweeping Nenyan culture - despite the suspicion with which the Humans of the Empire view the technology, following the Turath Disaster.

Outside, visible through the VisiWall - the technical term for it - the Imperial Palace Guard completes its portion of the ceremony.

Somehow, the sound of Rialla's voice is amplified to audibility in the Viewing Room - probably speakers in the walls, although none are visible (and for that matter, there are no visible light sources either) - as she declares, "We accept," she pauses-

-smoothly, Semir continues, "-the honour-"

Rialla continues: "-of your-"

"-allegiance," Semir completes.

Rialla turns away from the lined-up Guards, who bow as one, draw their swords, hold them high with a flourish, and then replace them in their scabbards as one, smooth unit.

Semir turns once the Guards vanish - they are all quite clearly Nenyan.

Rialla and Semir, having stood to say their piece, retake their seats, and fall silent. Both remain still; it is a symbol of discipline, of patience. Essential traits for leaders.

At the end of the Parade - and a segment of the VisiWall alters composition to magnify and bring the appropriate area into focus, without harming the crystal-clarity of the rest of the view - a group of gaudily dressed (and amber eyed) men and woman march, in unison but not with military precision, from around the corner and onto the Parade proper.

The civilian segment of the parade, clearly, is to arrive first; and these are entertainers, as will soon become clear. The symbolism may not be obvious; but it represents two things. First, that the people of the Empire - the civilians - always come first. Second, that the happiness of the people is paramount; after all, even the Empress-in-Waiting must wait before her Coronation for the onlookers to be delighted by these entertainers.

As they march through the Parade, the crowds cheer in anticipation - the sound is quietened instead of amplified, and merely indicative of the roar that must be going up out there - and in response, and perhaps on cue, the lead group of entertainers begins to perform.

Stunningly, they leap into the air, sprinkling colours from their rainbow-like clothes, which, like traditional duelling gear, are slit in a thousand places to give the blurring effect of which Nenyans appear so fond. These are acrobats; leaping and dancing, and some trailing long paper lines, they perform exquisite jumps; they blur, they vanish midair, and they sometimes appear to fly due to the sheer elegance of their leaps - combined with the Nenyan ability to Draw the Shadows.

The result is quite stunning. Rapidly, the group pass down the Parade, and as they reach about halfway, the music of a civilian marching band - and not a Nenyan one - can be heard. Soft, lilting voices sing sometimes haunting, sometimes delightful songs and melodies in Quenya; these are clearly Quendi, and not Nenyans. Music; dancing; food; these are the loves of the Empire; and these are the things at which they excel beyond all else. The art of the body and the mind; the swirling, leaping colours of the acrobats merges with the breathtaking rising and swooping sounds of the Quendi singers, and the tumbling vista of music poured out by the marching band enfolds the entire scene in a contrastingly peaceful, gentle cloak of silk.

There may be symbolism to be seen in this; but no symbolism is intended. It is merely entertainment; the enjoyment of the abilities of the sentient to produce wonder, and beauty; and the acrobatics are a study in form, in elegance, in the ability of the body to weave images in the mind of the watcher; perhaps symbolism is unavoidable - but none is intended.

Rialla and Semir stand, smiling gleefully (although their smiles and their faces are not visible to the delegates, as their backs are turned to the VisiWall, and, wonder that the device is, it cannot see what is not visible) - although their eyes are equally on each other as on the events unfolding before them - and awaiting the passing of this portion of the Parade.

* * *

Dejure strode towards the Viewing Room, well aware that the delegates had, for the most part (some were, no doubt, inevitably late - the traffic in the skies above Nenya had been greater than at any point in the brief history of the current incarnation of the Empire - or any other time, for that matter) already arrived.

He is, perhaps, the only native Imperial Citizen who is not smiling. But this is no suprise; if Dejure were to smile, the universe would surely lose balance, and collapse.

Well, perhaps not. But so it is joked by many at the Diplomatic Corps building, just several miles from the Palace in the Foreign Quarter of Nenya.

Brushing the old oak door of the Viewing Room aside, he strides into the chamber, and, quietly, takes up a position near-ish to the door. He does not speak, or smile, or give signal; he merely stands, still, and waits, in case a delegate has a question, or merely wishes to make that dreadful thing that is known as 'small talk'.

Dejure cringes (internally) and hopes that nobody does desire to 'talk shop'.

It would, after all, be most rude to kill an honoured guest (or a dishonoured guest, for that matter)... so he would be forced to make small talk. Although... many would note that small talk with Ambassador Dejure is surely a fate worse than death.

Internally, Dejure found comfort at the realisation that, if anyone were to attempt to punish him in such a way, his revenge would surely be assured at any rate.

Silently, and looking not far different from a statue due to his overall static-ness, he looks on.

The shuttle landed swiftly, and nine men came out of it.
Six were in parade deep blue uniform of the Alexander Guard Honorary Regiment, unarmed.
After they came out, followed the two dignitaries:
Leib-Marshal of the TNDF, Leib-Duke Valery Berilov,
High Councilor of the Duchy for Foreign Affairs, Leib-Count Alexei Nemirov.

Last, in his parade uniform, came out the Grand Duke himself.

The small delegation got into the Fancy's and set course to the Palace...

The three dignitaries watched at the tapestries, depicting Nenyan scientists, as well as scenes from battles.

The Grand Duke sighed...

- It would seem EOTED knows us better than we do, -he grinned.

- Your Highness, even We do not know the full extent of our history, -replied the Leib-Count, with a smile.

Throughout the road, the delegates enjoyed the views of Ma-Nenya, but still - they thought that there was nothing better than the good old Taraskovyan motherland...

The Taraskovyan delegation arrived at the palace and was guided through the majestic halls and corridors to the guest room, just in time to view the ending of the guard ceremony through the...

- Visi-what? - the Leib-Marshal stared at the wall... image... thing...

The Grand Duke greeted the foreign delegates present in the room, while the Leib-Marshal and the Leib-Count went into a talk about the current marvels of visual technology and how their respective grand-sons would make their lifes a living hell if they were to ever know about such a wall... image... thing...
Just imagine - an FP view the size of a wall!

OOC:
Sorry for not RP'ing the greetings...
This week is very hard :cry:

After quietly setting the 30,000 ton Equilibrium at the aerospaceport, vonKarma and 2 others in full military Mess Dress make their way to the palace, in time to catch the ceremony and parade.

"Quite the discipline, eh Hideki?"

"Yes sir, mighty impressive. The vanashing part caught my attention, thats for sure. By the way sir, I dont know if you noticed it, but there was an Imperium shuttle at the airport. Voyeur sat recon has a clear shot of Melkor himself getting out of it."

They continue walking.

"Well, that should make this an interesting trip. Notify our assets in place, lets keep tabs on 'ol Morgy."

Hideki pauses for a moment, sending a secured transmission through his cranial transmitter.

"Done."

vonKarma continues to stroll through the palace, looking at the artwork. He spots Nathi, and quietly leads his group to stand behind her.

"Excuse me, you wouldn't happen to be Dread Lady Nathicana would you? I am a /huge/ fan and was wondering if you could sign an autograph for me?"

"I don't like it, Bob. Period."

Bob Pratt listened as his brother explained the nefariousness of Nenyans and their kin. But he already knew his brothers fears, he knew his concerns and his desires. He himself, of course, knows better.

"...if you want, if you really insist, I will go," Toby Pratt finished.

Bob smiled. (In Bob's case, a smile means a slight lifting of his permanent, ice-cold stares frown). "That won't be necessary. I'll be quite safe, and I'll be going personally."

Toby belted another beer down. This served merely to quench his thirst for hader liquor. "Besides," Bob added, "I reckon they won't be offering anything to drink there. This is a diplomats job, not a Generals, General."

"Still..." Toby said, obviously not at ease with Santa Barbara's most important man at the mercy of his dreaded Nenyans. "There's nothing you can say that will make me let you go."

--

Later that evening, Bob Pratt's personal transport-- a souped-up Korven Supermule, fitted for transatmospheric, global-range luxury travel-- glided down to NIA, touched down deftly, and out Bob went.

He had had a mini-bottle of vodka during the two-hour flight. A refresher, really; he didn't believe in getting plastered for anything of importance, unlike his brother. He did, however, believe that a relaxed atmosphere could be conducive to more relaxed negotiations, especially if those he was negotiating with were more "relaxed" than he.

As he found himself strolling the Foreign Entrance Hall, he realized this would be one of those situations. The huge tapestries depicted famous faces and deeds, fame and deeds which somehow managed to elude himself in his own rule. He frowned, his bald head shiny in the comforting, but oddly sterile light. He would so enjoy crushing his enemies efficiently in the cold reaches of space, as he saw to his left.

If I had such enemies to crush... he thought. No, his enemies were crushed more efficiently in far less glamorous methods, and politics dictated that he behave differently than his brother. Politics and... something more. He couldn't define his thoughts any further.

He was impressed with the efficiency of the Nenyans, of course. He had high standards, and he was not disappointed, and this in itself was the basis of his impression.

He had disallowed his brothers suggestion for a huge honor guard. While this may have suited EOTED fashion, he had no desires for the trappings of power. He had instructed his brother to hand-select a small team of IIA and SOTG officers to accompany him into the palace, and the six men were dressed in the nondescript, practical uniforms of the various branches they came from. They wandered casually, as dignitaries from the Conglomerate, but the relaxed appearance was just appearance. If something drastic were to happen, they would snap into action efficiently and smartly and protect the Honorary Chairman of the PrattCo Conglomerate Board of Directors.

A sharp pain got his attention. Heartburn. He grumbled inwardly. Ah well, its worth it to see this new Empress of theirs, is it?

Bob nodded subtly, mostly to himself, and at his surroundings in general, addressing the Nenyan functionaries with brisk, business-like politeness. He looked around, standing idly a moment, for the representatives of other nations.

"Fascinating ... " Frank murmurs as he watches on the viewing wall. "Yes indeed. The city is elegantly done, and this is a truly marvellous display of social manipulation - or tradition, or celebration; name it how you please. Aren't those dancers fantastic? Truly, truly amazing."

He looks up then, as Bob Pratt enters, and covers his look of surprise by taking a sip from his glass of grape juice. "So ... it's always awkward, this part. Obviously I could ask about the Territory, but it's unlikely you'd tell me anything I don't already know from my briefings; and vice versa. And other than small talk about the weather, I'm not quite sure what to say. So let's talk about something close to both our hearts, or at least I would assume so. The pros and cons of biogenetic versus cybernetic body enhancements."

She watches the procession in rapt fascination, not quite having the words to describe what she's seeing. The flow of color and form ... leaves her breathless.

Now this, is beauty.

Nathi recognizes the voice, and smiles broadly before turning around.

"Xeruyu, you rascal," she says, impulsively giving him a warm hug. "How's my favorite flight instructor?"

She looks over his shoulder to the rest of the group, blushing just a touch as she draws back, still smiling.

"It's good to see you, truth. I don't get out your direction near enough. Too much going on earthside most of the time."

Behind vK, Ropponmatsu and Hideki look at each other briefly, but quickly regain their composure, as vK returns the hug.

"Great to see you as well, Nathi. Hopefully you recieved my letter about the upcoming safari, that should solve the problem about not making it out my way. Let me introduce you to Command Agent Ropponmatsu, and Field Agent Hideki of the KSPA. They are here to "protect" me, as it seems, but I think they both just really wanted a vacation. Although with morgy here, they may not get that yet."

'We demand that all nobles be returned, all possesions that they took to the ceremony. And, 25 million USD. If not, their will be millitary intervention.

'You say that we are committing crimes against seinteints, yet you hold seinteints against their own will. Innocent seinteints. You have no proof. Some of them are even your kin.'

http://www.gamespy.com/avatars/av/MN/mn359.gif
--High Grand Admiral Quin Izumi, Count of Khristian Drifters

'We demand that all nobles be returned, all possesions that they took to the ceremony. And, 25 million USD. If not, their will be millitary intervention.

'You say that we are committing crimes against seinteints, yet you hold seinteints against their own will. Innocent seinteints. You have no proof. Some of them are even your kin.'

http://www.gamespy.com/avatars/av/MN/mn359.gif
--High Grand Admiral Quin Izumi, Count of Khristian Drifters

We will gladly return the nobles, and their possessions... and pay the money...

Providing that the trial proves conclusivley that you are right, and we are wrong.

You are welcome to send observers.

~ Ambassador Relhatti

The staff at Nenya International Airport were rather surprised to see five rather large Kalessin dragons pop into existance. The onlookers were even more surprised to see that their scales were a delicate pastel violet, with the normal stench of dragon being drowned out by a floral perfume, which made any elves who might smell it feel a little dizzy.

Then, Prince Cavile al Pulcherise vaulted lightly down from his elaborately decorated velvet saddle, strummed his harp and walked towards the doors, followed by his guards, who were about a score in number, including Kluy.

'We demand that all nobles be returned, all possesions that they took to the ceremony. And, 25 million USD. If not, their will be millitary intervention.

'You say that we are committing crimes against seinteints, yet you hold seinteints against their own will. Innocent seinteints. You have no proof. Some of them are even your kin.'

http://www.gamespy.com/avatars/av/MN/mn359.gif
--High Grand Admiral Quin Izumi, Count of Khristian Drifters

We will gladly return the nobles, and their possessions... and pay the money...

Providing that the trial proves conclusivley that you are right, and we are wrong.

You are welcome to send observers.

~ Ambassador Relhatti

'How do we know that the observors won't be held hostage also?

'There will be no trial. You so not have the right to try them.'

http://www.gamespy.com/avatars/av/MN/mn359.gif
--Quin Izumi

The staff at Nenya International Airport were rather surprised to see five rather large Kalessin dragons pop into existance. The onlookers were even more surprised to see that their scales were a delicate pastel violet, with the normal stench of dragon being drowned out by a floral perfume, which made any elves who might smell it feel a little dizzy.

Then, Prince Cavile al Pulcherise vaulted lightly down from his elaborately decorated velvet saddle, strummed his harp and walked towards the doors, followed by his guards, who were about a score in number, including Kluy.

Many of the Nenyan International Airport staff who saw the dragons arrived winced reflexivley - they remembered the last time Kalessin had deployed dragons to the Empire.

And the forests had burned. Not that they'd died, praise the Stars, but... the mere thought of the precious Nenyan woodland burning was enough to set any Nenyan's teeth on edge.

Cavile, like all the other delegates, are met and treated with the utmost respect and dignity; unlike all the other delegates (excepting Alkanphel), he is also kept under observation by an IDFI sniper perched (nigh on invisible with the combination of ghillie suit and natural Nenyan ability) on a hangar roof. Just in case.

Again, like all the other delegates, Cavile is taken to a Fancy (which arrives exactly on time), and, inside, the tapestries are largely concerning conflicts. There are, however, a few ancient and rather threadbare images of wyrms - the closest Nenyan art has ever come to images of Kalessinic dragonkind.

Cavile is, of course, taken to the Palace, and via the Foreign Entrance Hall, to the Viewing Room.

'How do we know that the observors won't be held hostage also?

'There will be no trial. You so not have the right to try them.'

--Quin Izumi

Why, we are far too honourable to kidnap anyone. Your people are being held within the bounds of EOTED Law. You may not recognize our right to try alledged war criminals, but that does not prevent us from asserting it.

The trial will occur. It will be fair to the utmost, and, if you do not wish to be certain that you are fully represented by observers, we can state categorically that foreign neutral observers will be present. There will be no claims of false justice.

If your people are guilty, they will be convincted of Crimes Against Sentients. If they are not guilty... then they will be released and you will be compensated.

~ Ambassador Relhatti

Behind vK, Ropponmatsu and Hideki look at each other briefly, but quickly regain their composure, as vK returns the hug.

"Great to see you as well, Nathi. Hopefully you recieved my letter about the upcoming safari, that should solve the problem about not making it out my way. Let me introduce you to Command Agent Ropponmatsu, and Field Agent Hideki of the KSPA. They are here to "protect" me, as it seems, but I think they both just really wanted a vacation. Although with morgy here, they may not get that yet."

"Melkor himself?" she asks with mild surprise. "I think, my dear, your intel is slipping. Alkanphel now, him I believe I saw slipping into one of those Fancys as I touched down."

Her expression grows a touch concerned.

"Do me a favor, dear ... don't lets get any crazy ideas, hmm? I think, given the setting and the circumstances, it would be in all our best interests to be on our very best behaviour, don't you think?"

Alkanphel's gaze slips over to vonKarma, his eyes flashing white as an intense hatred could be spied for a split second on his face, his gloved hands restraining themselves behind his back, as he continued to watch the proceedings with otherwise vague interest.

His cold stare passed over the delegates as he tried to place them--some of them he had met, most he hadn't.

William watches the viewing wall with his delegation. Enjoying the spectacle. Being slightly disappointed he wasn't there for real. But it was nice nontheless.
His viewing was interupted when Liam whispered something in his ear.
He stood up and excused himself. And walked away.

William walked up to Nathicana towering over the, compared to his 2 meters plus, short lady. He gave her a long deep bow. "I greet you Dread Lady Nathicana. Please pardon me for my rudeness. I have never met you before, and Zhakarov din't leave our two nations with the best of relations. I but wish to correct that mistake."

Glancing past Xeruyu to the others serving as his backup, she spots the rather imposing figure she'd just been talking about, and her brow arches ever so slightly in interest.

"Speak of the devil," she says very quietly. "Please, do remember to at least keep your distance if you can't keep things civil ... I'm all too aware of the history there."

She looks up, literally, as William approaches and greets her suddenly, her attention diverted from her weighing and measuring of the dark maiar.

Smiling warmly, she puts out her hand in greeting. "The pleasure is mine, William," she says pleasantly. "I regret my words at that conference were as .. terse as they were, but you have to admit, there were rather harsh words flung about on all sides there. I hold no ill will, and am pleased to see that apparently, you do not either."

William gallently takes her hand and kisses it. "Don't regret your words. Many people starting thinking about our AI laws because of them. You should be thankfull." He says and smiles. "Are there any questions you might want anwsered milady?"

She ponders for a moment, but shakes her head slowly. "I'm afraid I came ill-prepared for question and answer sessions," she says with a grin. "Though I'm certain there are any number of things you might tell me of yourself or your nation. Though I admit, I'm terribly flattered at your words. I had no idea my little arguments had had any far-reaching effects."

Nathi looks back to Von Karma for a moment. "And yes, I did recieve your invitation. Beg pardon - I was distracted with ..." she nods almost imperceptibly towards Alkanphel. "You can bet I'll be there. Looking forward to it."

"Now, William ... what might you be willing to share?" she says with a charming smile.

William smiles with equal charm. "Would you like to hear some of my past?" He asks her.
Nathi looks over to Xeruyu with a brief apologetic glance, and quickly looks back to William, still smiling. "Of course."

"Well I was born over two hundred years ago. And spent many years studying excact sciences. I took a job in the army as a medic and later got promated all the way untill I had my own division. With that I earned getting the vaccine. After wich I spent many years abroad. When I returned home I started my own bussiness and the faith. And when Zhakarov died I became the leader. And then we hit this point in time." He smiles. "Just a quick recap. So tell me about yourself milady." He asks and bows slightly.

She listens politely, nodding occasionally at the proper moments.

Did he actually say, two hundred years? I will never understand some of these odd races and their differences ... granted, not impossible to work with, but Gods, so damnably .. strange.

"Myself?" she says with a little laugh. "Why, there's not much to tell, my dear. Born and raised in the Dominion, I grew up for a good portion of my life as a ward of the state. Going through the military program, I eventually came under the notice of Central Intel, working there, and eventually taking the Minister position. When it became apparent that our current leader was not up to the task, I ... took over. Simple as that. The rest, as they say, is history."

She speaks lightly, though her eyes darken a bit at the mention of her childhood. It's a fleeting thing, hardly noticed, and she quickly moves on.

"Quite the proceedings, don't you think?" she asks offhandedly.

He listens attentively and nods once in a while. At the end he smiles and makes a slight bow to her.

"Yes it are very nice proceedings. I but wish I could be their, and not witness it on some vid wall. Alas our host saw fit to have us watch on this wall. And I respect his decision." He says.
"It has been a pleasure and honour to talk to you milady. But I must go now. I have but one last thing to ask." He clears his throat and straightens his uniform. "Is it a possibillity for me to visit your nation and have some talks, trying to improve our nation's relationship?" He asks and bows deeply, waiting for the anwser.

"Perhaps ... perhaps. I think for that, we should pursue more formal channels. And when I'm back home with my planner, I'll be better able to tell you what times I have free, and likewise I'd imagine, for yourself?" she asks, tilting her head slightly.

"It's never a bad thing to look into furthering ties, after all."

William stands up straight again. "Then we shall see what comes of this. The party is still young and I'm sure I'll talk to you later. But now I can no longer take up any of your time." He says and bows again and kisses her hand gallently. "Goodbye milady." He says and walks away, back to his delegation.

"How did it go?" Nataliya asks him when he comes back. "I should say it went well. We will formally plan a meeting once we get back home." He says looking at the vid wall again. "Have you seen your Nejure yet?" He asks. "No not yet." Nataliya says and lets out a dreamy sigh.

Dejure scowls. He was not looking forward to this; but... orders were orders.

With Alkanphel now here, he could not delay further. He already had, in fact, delayed too long - he had been supposed to greet the... thing... on arrival.

Marching over to the Maia with clear intent, he halts four feet away, and bows stiffly - barely a motion, really, but intended to say, "I may have to respect you, but I damned well won't like it."

Aloud, Dejure states crisply, "My Lord Alkanphel, it is an honour to find your presence here." He does not await a reply; the words leave a vile taste on his tongue, and he moves on swiftly: "-I trust proceedings are to your likings, and we have neglected no major need of yours?"

* * *

Nejure smiled to himself as he walked towards the Viewing Room. She would, of course, be present. He knew it.

She also, no doubt, knew that he would be present - if not immediatley, then, as was the case, at some point.

Brushing the oak door aside, he marched into the viewing room, a small smile adorning his features. Quietly, nodding and smiling at the delegates he passes, and offering no verbal greeting - lest they halt his progress towards Nataliya - he walks with a wide, slightly-bouncing stride towards Nataliya.

And who can blame him for the bounce in his stride? The two people he respects most greatly of all who live are about to be Crowned - and married, although that isn't public knowledge - and the one he loves beyond all else is present. Anyone would have a spring in their stride at that.

* * *

Outside, the military portions of the precession continue on their route to the Palace, with the crowds on the 'streets' - which, really, aren't streets, but wide grassy areas of flat land, with trees interspersed in avenues along the centres - following alongside. As ever, the IDF GF leads, with the IDF AF not yet taking part in the proceedings; all are dressed in the gaudy dress uniforms of their particular units, and, as is appropriate, the 1 GF Armoured Division is by far the nearest to arrival at the Parade.

But they do not arrive yet. MI tanks silently pass through the streets of the capital - the first military presence inside Nenya in nearly four hundred years - followed and flanked by the IDF GF officers who make their very continued existance possible. Enlisted officers lead, and the non-enlisted follow, in duller, less bright colour; but they are well-disciplined, still, being handpicked for the occasion. Naturally, the entire IDF will not take part - the streets are packed enough as it is, without one hundred fifty million men and women marching through - but only the very best of the very best. Four million men march in unison, each from different sections of the city; but not all are destined to arrive at the Parade. Only four thousand of the total will march past the Empress and High King to-be; one thousand IDF N officers (all of which are enlisted), one thousand IDF GF officers (a third of which are enlisted), one thousand IDF SN officers (all of which are enlisted), and, once they arrive, one thousand IDF AF officers (none of which are pilots).

OOC: Roleplayed this bit out with EOTED (Ma-Tek) on IRC as to not flood the thread with posts about it.

IC: Nataliya smiles and says nothing. Thinking it would spoil such a beautifull expression. Trying to see who's walking Nataliya turns around. She only briefly looks at Nejure before running off to Nejure and meet him with a hug.
Nejure is surprised, slightly, but tries not to let it show, and impulsively throws his arms around Nataliya and clutches her close. Quietly, though, he whispers into her ear, "Alkanphel." Quite what this is meant to mean is probably quite obscure, though.
Nataliya looked up into Nejures face with a suprised look. "What do you mean?"
Nejure draws his head back slightly, and, with the same near-silent volume, replies, "Alkanphel is no doubt watching. I do not trust that oaf of a Maia; he is no doubt watching, seeking for weaknesses." Perhaps that explains it. Perhaps it doesn't.
Nataliya nods and let's go of Nejure. "And that's how the women greet friends in my nation." She says and gives him a wink. "Come join us."
Nejure shrugs, slightly. "And in mine, too. - I would be honoured..." He offers his arm.
Nataliya gladly takes his arm and holds onto it tightly. Waiting for the gallent man to lead her.
Nejure smiles, resisting the urge to... well, he doesn't know what, exactly, but resisting an urge to do something. - Still with that same spring in his step, he leads Nataliya back the way she came - and makes an effort (albeit an unsuccesful and slight one) to not spend most of the short journey glancing towards Nataliya to gaze at her.
As they walk Nataliya keeps dreamingly staring up at Nejure. And deep into his eyes when he gazes upon her. - When they reach William and Liam William stands up and greets Nejure with a slight bow. "Hello Nejure. It is good to see you once again. I see that you found Nataliya." He says.
Bowing his head, Nejure is clearly unwilling to relinquish Nataliya's arm - even if it might be considered mildly disrespectful. He attempts to cover the potential disrespect with words, however, "My greetings, Highness. It is a deep respect that you attend yourself, Highness; and of course, it is my eminent pleasure to see you again."
"Glad to hear that. - Now I'll leave you two alone." He says and watches the vid wall again. Nataliya still looking dreamingly at Nejure.
Nejure smiles fondly back at Nataliya, and motions to the VisiWall. "I trust you are enjoying the ceremony thusfar, my dear Lady?"
Nataliya glances only for a short while at the VisiWall and then back at Nejure. "Oh yes. But I, like William, only wished we could see it in real life."
Nejure's eyebrows flit upwards slightly. "Why, you are. It's little more than a window; it isn't a video screen. Why, if we wanted to make a vidscreen that big..." He grins. "...we'd have to build it in orbit. And, as you may well know, we only have one orbital facility; and as yet, they do not manufacture anything."
"Still. It feels artificial. - But I don't mind now that you are here." She says and holds onto his arm tightly.
Nejure smiles widely, leaning against Nataliya slightly. "It's quite marvellous, really," he explains proudly, "as the wall itself is composed of trillions of nanobugs. I don't exactly understand it myself, but they do something to the way light interacts with them by shifting position... or something." He shrugs slightly. "At any rate... it's amazing stuff."
Nataliya smiles at his inabbillity to explain how it works. Knowing herself exactly how it would probably work. She just nods as he explain. "No need to explain my dear. - How have you been?"
Nejure frowns, ever so slightly. "I've missed you," he admits quietly, "but you're here now. And that, my dear, is all that matters."
Nataliya smiles even more when she heared Nejure missed her. And she leans her face in closer to his. "And I missed you." She whispers. "my love." She slowly closes her eyes and leans in even closer.
Nejure hesitates, purely due to an unwillingness to show any sign of 'weakness' to Alkanphel (who he is convinced is watching), but lifts a hand nontheless to stroke Nataliya's jawline gently as he leans in to meet his lips with hers in a tender, embracing kiss.
Nataliya feels her heart race as he kisses her. When the kiss is broken she lets out a deep sigh of pleasure. "Let us watch and no longer show weaknesses." She says and leans her head onto his shoulder and arm.
Nejure gently leans his own head on Nataliya's, and whispers, "I don't want you to misunderstand, my love... What Alkanphel would consider weakness... I do not. It is strength. Love is the string that binds us all together, after all."
Nataliya smiles and says nothing. Thinking it would spoil such a beautifull expression.

As the Dragons vanished into the emptiness of between, Cavile, sensing the presence of the sniper, looked up, and winked cheerfully before entering his Fancy, sniffing contemptuously at the ancient and conflict-orientated tapestries. As the Fancy began to move towards the Palace, he closed his eyes and leaned back upon his seat, as his musicians began to play a delicate tune which gently whispered out into the air beyond, infusing it with a sense of carefree peace, and the feeling that nothing that might happen in the world was of any consequence.

As they arrived, Cavile stepped gracefully from the vehicle, clad from head to toe in cloth of gold, which went perfectly with his pale features, and holding a lyre crafted from some ancient form of wood, cut from a tree which had never been seen by mortal man, and his cloak was as green as the leaves of the forest which covered the city, though even through its emerald folds streaks of gold ran like rivers, forming intricate patterns of unimaginable complexity.

The warriors who filed out behind him, each clutching a different instrument, were clad in finely crafted breastplates, greaves, bracers and green-plumed helms, all wrought from shining gold, and their tunics and cloaks were of the same emerald hue as the the cloak which hung from the shoulders of their lord.

They arrived, fashionably late, just as the guardsmen completed their square, and reclined on a couch as he watched, casually nibbling on one of the side dishes and sipping from a goblet of Nenyan fruit juice, having selected a variety not native to Kalessin.

She picks up a glass, sips and raises an eyebrow. Slightly mangled English, Afrikaans and nasal German lurking. "Beautiful, fascinating and quite dangerous. I would say you did ask about the Territory, Ambassador. It is an important question... Really, as far as I am concerned the important distinction is not of whether one has biological or machine enhancements." Flex of hand and tap of mastoid bone. Beat, pondering.

"I would say - what is important is whether one is born to them or has them put in at a later date. If one is born to them there is some alienation from the baseline population. If one is enhanced later there is alienation from everyone - I remember living with crude retinal headsups, cables shifting, heart and breathing just..." looking for words, failing, "...odd. And I really thought it was a good thing - they were good enhancements and they made me feel like a bit, pardon the heresy, like a Goddess.

No-tooth smile again. "Maybe I did answer a question or two, Ambassador. What are your views?"

[OOC: Sorry about delay - needed a good workday to get rested]

Frank puts down his empty grape juice glass on the tray of a passing waiter, and deftly selects some bright orange concoction that appears to have green swirls in it. He takes a sniff, and his eyes widen.

"Well - I am somewhat in agreement with you. I must say I fail to see how one might be born with machine enhancements - that would seem a lot more trouble than it's worth. And organics are so much more ... efficient. I suppose the question of alienation from your fellow men can be answered easily by ensuring all are born with the same. In Voices, we're trying to ensure the vast majority of people are aided at the same rate - sadly, this means it's a somewhat slow and expensive process. But it does have the long-term advantage that everything the 'Better World' project affects breeds in over the generations. Hmm - that looks good."

He reaches out and takes what appears to be a bright purple fruit, then looks uncomfortably at it. He scans the room, and eventually spots another official eating one. He puts it on a plate, and cuts it open before spooning out the inside. Looks tasty.

Bob Pratt stands silently, observing the atmosphere of the room, soaking it up to get a feel for the situation. There was much color and food, festitivies in the usual diplomatic extravagance. He removes his glasses, breathes hotly on the lens and wipes them clean with a handkerchief. It is a well-worn affectation of his, and once complete he walks casually up to Frank Besson, with whom he is vaguely familiar.

"Greetings, Mister... Beston, is it? I have heard fine praise murmured from the WV government about your services," he says, offering his hand firmly in greeting.

Drinking her sugar-rich juice in small, neat gulps as the Whispering Voices diplomat speaks, Renate notes a certain sense of... polite disaste perhaps, toward the Santa Barbaran. Odd... well, in a bit the diplomat can get on with his job. She puts her empty glass down and makes a rather Prussian heel-click and bow to her colleague from Santa Barbara. Her German accent thickens slightly.



"Pleased to make your acquaintance, Herr Pratt. If I might just intrude..." She turns her gaze back to Frank.



"Herr Besson... generally it is, but there are exceptions. Of course these enhancements could be considered a symbiont, generally diamondoid - but the end result is machine enhancements grown inside the body. Consider augmented reality, interface, cognitive enhancements - hell for an adult to learn the use of. But a child born to them will simply learn to use these extra senses like the ones she's gentically encoded for. Machine, yet... inborn." Hand touches cloth above womb. "My heritage, given at some metabolic cost."

Frank Besson fixes Bob Pratt with a warm, welcoming smile: hastily pushing down and concealing a vague feeling of condescension towards the uncouth Santa Barbaran.

"That is true, I suppose. Crystalline structures can be grown as augmentations. But really ... with enough effort, organic molecules and stem cells can answer every conceivable need - at least, so the geneticists tell me when they show me around the buildings. Ah, a pleasure to meet you, Mr Pratt."

Frank pro-offers his hand to the massively wealthy CEO. "I hope you are well?"

"I am well, or about as well as can be expected," Pratt says, avoiding the natural tendency to add, I reckon, to that.

He also nods politely at Renate. He can tell his presence here is somewhat oppressive-- he's used to that-- but, feeling a burst of childish impulsiveness he presses on, undaunted.

"I couldn't but help overhearing a bit about augmentics. It's quite fashionable among many in Santa Barbara, actually," he remarks idly. "Especially in the military. Although, heh, many of us have preferred to stick with old-fashioned pure organics."

He pushes his glasses slightly up his nose, on cue.

He looks around hastily for a waiter. His mouth feels dry.

Post Deleted.

Letter to Rialla II;

Never be too comfortable on the seat of power for rulership of a land or world is a heavy burden. Just a knifes can scar living tissue then so can power scar the spirit. Not me though, I am Istari!

Saruman the White
Lord of Doruin

Looking up at the Santa Barbaran: "Either is a valid choice, Herr Pratt. Ultimately it's a question of what hardware we want our minds to run in, I suppose. Ah well, the historians will pick our choices apart whatever we do."





A formal nod to Besson. "We must speak of these things later, Herr Besson. Pleased to make your acquaintance, Herr Pratt."

Bob Pratt looks at Renate, giving a polite incline of his head and saying, "Indeed. A pleasure to meet you as well."

He strokes his chin thoughtfully, an affectation so well-practiced it isn't an affectation anymore. "Yes, the historians, always the historians. Fortunately, history is fluid, and can with a little engineering be steered on a course favorable to us all."

A smile. "And they will look down their noses at what they see as our stupid mistakes. Until next time." With a click of heels and a shallow bow she drifts off, in Cavile's general direction.

"That is true. There are endless platitudes relating to the control of history - or at least the power that altering perceptions of it gives. I must say, Mr Pratt, excellent work by your country on New Babel - we are most pleased. And the same for the Damocles ground work."

Nathicana observes the couple, raising her brow only slightly. She decides to politely to appear not take notice, feeling her casual attention to be invasive. Still, that doesn't stop her from keeping an ear out.

She watches Cavile arrive with an undisguised little smile. Flamboyant as ever, and still managing to look good doing it. Nathi smooths her dress for no apparent reason, flashing him a brilliant smile.

Renate, she recognizes from the wedding a while back, and if she manages to catch her eye, nods respectfully, giving her a close-lipped smile.

She doesn't, however, recognize the two men she'd been chatting with. She observes from a distance, noting the little quirks of each, storing them away as is her wont to do, and making a note to find out who they are.

Alkanphel, she chooses for now, to observe at a distance. She finds herself rather fascinated with him, the way one might be while watching a deadly serpent, or watching a particularly graphic surgery.

Perhaps not best to call attention to myself there. Perhaps ...

She had seen the look he shot Xeruyu and it had chilled her. And seeing the demeanor of the standoffish Nenyan towards him, had on several levels ... amused her.

Ah, what to do, what to do. To stand off and risk appearing rude, or to put myself forward and risk seeming overanxious? Not to mention having the needs of two alliances to balance here, she thought with a wry grin, her gaze slipping back to von Karma. They, perhaps, would look at her rather askance, at least.

She sips her water quietly for a moment, weighing her options.

He recognizes Nathicana as she enters; he had seen her face before, but never in person, nor had he interacted with her nation. He makes no outward sign of his recognition and continues to talk.

"Thanks, thank you for that compliment," replies Bob Pratt. "The IDG was a bit worried about that project, what with a couple setbacks and budgeting problems. But it turned out well in the end."

It was an interesting series of moves that had brought him here where he, ordinarily, or ten years earlier, wouldn't be caught dead at.

It's a big nest o' rattlesnakes, he imagined Toby would say. In his mind, his brothers voice was often heard, echoing thoughts of caution and distrust, of final solutions to problems. He briefly glances at Nathicana. Well, that it may be, but there is one snake that doesn't seem too unpleasant. On the outside, anyway...

The continued show is impressive, to say the least, and she watches in appreciation, even as she continues to casually scan the room.

Noticing one of the gentlemen glancing in her direction, she flashes him a pleasant smile, her sense of mischief getting the better of her as she adds a sly wink.

So many new faces ... damn, I'm slipping. Didn't do my homework for this trip. That, and the unexpected arrivals ... at any rate, what could possibly go wrong? Pleasant enough so far, so long as old hatreds don't boil over.

"Yes, yes it did." Frank drank deeply as he followed the exchange of gazes between Bob Pratt and ...

Hot damn. When did she arrive? And she's making eyes at that guy. Damn lucky fellow ... I'll let them get on with it. He smiled politely at Bob, then a waiter walked passed and he seized the opportunity.

"Do excuse me, Mr Pratt - we shall speak later no doubt." He smiled warmly, offered a handshake, and then headed after the waiter.

Now, look at the fruit. The edible fruit. No, dammit. The green fruit. Yea ... that's an ugly apple. Ho hum.

A little distracted, carefully avoiding looking back, he purused the fruit section of the Nenyan buffet.

Bob notices the smile and wink. A frivolous yearning burns deep within him. He cools it off mercilessly, as quickly as would the ITDO stamp down a student protest, and inclines his head ever-so-slightly in a subtle nod in her direction as a response. More would come, surely, had this been a party back in his college days-- but he was getting old now, and he had but one mission.

The room seems to grow smaller somehow, and he wonders how the soon-to-be Empress is faring, already pondering the steps he must take to insure increased benefits for the Conglomerate.

vonKarma catches Alkanphel's glance, and returns it, with the biggest grin that Nathi had ever seen crack the old war horse's face.

"There's the snake in the grass now. Ropponmatsu, are our assets in place?"


"Yes sir, look about 20 feet back and to the left of The Mark, near the doorway."

He looks, nods and resumes scanning the crowd. If Nathi were to look where Ropponmatsu suggested, she would see non-other than Ropponmatsu casually observing the crowd near Alkanphel.

Nathi winces briefly at the exchange. "This can't end well ..." she mutters quietly under her breath.

She does indeed catch the reference and carefully schools her face to impassiveness as she spots the double, her eyes quickly scanning over and moving on, so as not to draw attention.

"Sly, Xeruyu ... very sly."

D'ron took the opportunity of a lull in the ceremony to glance about the room.

He saw quite a number of Triumvirate of Yut allies And Cavile, who seemed to not be all that bad a person, just a tad odd.

And then there was Alkanphel. He was being watched by a number of people, so D'ron felt relatively safe. He felt could just ignore Alkanphel.

But with hand signs, he asked Lesley. Can you sense Alkanphel?

She nodded. Can you tell me if he approaches? Cortana noticed the motions, and nodded with Lesley.

Good.

Jessica was too fanscinated by the display from the IDF to notice any of it. Nor did D'ron care that she did not notice. She was young yet.

Si Ling, formerly Emperor Si Ling I, arrives absolutely and utterly late. Best way to make an entrance, his expression states clearly. He ignores Alkanphel; best not to spit at the 'man' - it would only set a bad impression.

The temptation is there, however.

Instead, he wanders over towards the VisiWall, pausing only to take a glass of water. Halting bare feet from the VisiWall, he raises his glass, and, under his breath, murmours, "To you, my daughter." He sips, and quietly watches.

Hell, if anyone wants to talk to him, they will. No need to appear overeager.

* * *

Outside, a steady stream of MI tanks silently floats along the Parade towards the Palace; as each Division passes the two seated, they do nothing of particular note. They merely drive past, and disappear around the corner of the Palace - as do all the troops that move with them.

Division after Division - eighteen, in all - each consisting (all though not here in their entirety) of several thousand troops apiece, and at least seven hundred tanks roll by. Although, this is but a fraction of the strength of the IDF on show, of course.

The majority of the tanks are the impressive Scorpion heavy-assault variety; dominated by their twin EF cannons and the central kinetic gun tube, the rather large untracked floating war-craft are anything but graceful. They ooze sheer power and lethality (in a similar fashion to the TCPS warships, it might be noted), and nothing else besides. No graceful lines; no curves; just sheer efficiency. No room for niceties in the IDF GF, apparently.

The skies remain strangely empty of IDF AF aircraft, which are, to the EOTED nationals gathered for the Coronation, one of the prime attractions (besides the Coronation itself, of course).

Making up her mind, Nathi sets her jaw stubbornly, then nods.

No gain without risk.

"If you'll excuse me, dear ... I'm going to mingle a bit," she says to von Karma, giving him another warm hug. "You behave yourself now, eh? Hope to visit some more."

She walks off gracefully, shooting him a mischievous smile over her shoulder, then heads purposefully towards the target of so much contention in the large room - Alkanphel himself.

Nathi approaches with a casual smile, confident but not arrogant, and tilts her head respectfully to the imposing figure.

"My Lord Alkanphel," she says softly. "I don't believe I've had the pleasure, until now, though I daresay your reputation preceeds you."

In what might be seen by some as bold, she puts forward her hand in greeting, her blue eyes sharp, judging his mood, weighing his reaction.

"Nathicana D'Aquisto dal Lupo of the Dominion. Quite pleased to finally meet you."

Now, how many people in this room did I just offend? she thinks with a private laugh.

Alkanphel, eerily, appeared to have no pupils, as Nathicana could observe from a short distance. This made it difficult to tell where exactly he was looking. His bodyguards had gone, leaving him to fend for himself.

As she came closer, the white could over his eyes parted, and his eyes could be seen. He appeared to calm down a little, as his attention was diverted from that backstabbing bastard vonKarma [ :wink: ].

He made a tiny bow as she introduced herself. "My reputation? Most interesting. I can't say I'm as familiar with you, though I beleive we've had some minor dealings in the past."

As Si Ling stepped into the room, Alkanphel's gaze immediately shot to him for a second, his eyes becoming slits, glowing with a faint white light. Si Ling can hear Alkanphel hissing softly in his mind. 'Yes... I can feel your hate. It's such a beautiful thing, no? Do it. Strike me. Give in to your unstoppable, righteous Nenyan rage.

There is so much of it in you. Perhaps there is hope for you yet.'

He continues to speak with Nathi throughout this episode. "It does dishearten me to see someone such as yourself associating with the Titan scum." He shook his head. "They're not to be trusted."

Lord Alkanphel
http://www.geocities.com/Tokyo/Garden/3507/chat/allen3.jpg

Her eyes narrow slightly at his mention of 'past dealings', but she lets it pass. This was neither the time nor the place, especially considering those in attendance. Still, she tilts her head slightly in recognition of the fact, supressing a shiver at his unsettling appearance.

This ... this was power, and on a level she would never attain. She found it fascinating.

"Ah well, we all have our ties," she says lightly, offering a brief smile. "There are few in this life who are to be trusted, I find. Some would say, better the devil you know than the devil you don't. Still ... I thank you for your concern."

"I admit, I was surprised to see you here. Still, I could hardly pass up the opportunity. My other allies, I'm afraid, would have never forgiven me. I hope that in the future we might be able to engage in talks of trade and the like, should the time be right. Alliances and all aside, buisness is business after all. The NDA likes to encourage that."

Her eyes narrow slightly at his mention of 'past dealings', but she lets it pass. This was neither the time nor the place, especially considering those in attendance. Still, she tilts her head slightly in recognition of the fact, supressing a shiver at his unsettling appearance.

This ... this was power, and on a level she would never attain. She found it fascinating.

"Ah well, we all have our ties," she says lightly, offering a brief smile. "There are few in this life who are to be trusted, I find. Some would say, better the devil you know than the devil you don't. Still ... I thank you for your concern."

"I admit, I was surprised to see you here. Still, I could hardly pass up the opportunity. My other allies, I'm afraid, would have never forgiven me. I hope that in the future we might be able to engage in talks of trade and the like, should the time be right. Alliances and all aside, buisness is business after all. The NDA likes to encourage that."

Alkanphel nods. "I know what you mean. While we by no means like the Nenyans and their ilk, we at least respect them enough to be a part of major state functions like this one." He shrugged. "Of course, we suspect this feeling isn't being reciprocated. The Nenyans are more arrogant than Reaven, and that's saying a lot. They're a tough group of people to get along with."

Si Ling's hand goes to his sword, instinctively, at the sound of that voice in his head.

Yet-

Yet-

He removes the hand. In a bitterly angry tone, he fires what he hopes is a psionic message back Alkanphel's way - there's no guarantee that it will work, as Si Ling is a mere empath.

Coldly angry, with a bitter edge: If I were a fool, I would let you feel the keen edge of my blade, little one. But I am not. I know better - and I do not have a death wish. The last is said with grudging respect.

"These state functions can be a challenge, to be sure. Never know who you'll end up brushing shoulders with," she says with a smile. "I have to say, I'm impressed. You've shown a good deal more civility than I've seen from other delegates at several functions when among those they ... care little for. I'm all too aware of the history between your nation and the Triumvirate. An nasty business, that. And yes, the Nenyans ... a decidedly odd people, though they have their strong points."

Glancing about the room briefly, she nods again. "I thank you, my Lord. It's been a pleasure making your aquaintance. I'll not take up more of your time with my idle chatter, though I do hope you'll consider the possibility of later talks on trade agreements between our alliances. I've had little contact with the nations involved. Being at least introduced to a couple I hope, will assist in furthering those efforts."

She makes a graceful courtsey, not too low, not too shallow, just enough to be respectful while keeping her own honor intact.

Lesley grimaces suddenly, her weak empathy over come by the intense hatred suddenly flooding the viewing room.

The fact that Alkanphel was a Maia simply made it worse, as he was just simply more powerful.

D'ron catches the Lesley's grimace, and glances about the room, catching the small motion of Si Ling's hand. His gaze flickers, and he immediately figures out what must have happened.

He reaches out, and pulls Lesley into his side, circling her with his arm, briefly nuzzles her hair, before returning his gaze to the Coronation Ceremony.

vonKarma smiles as Nathi leaves, knowing exactly what she plans to do. He turns and begins walking along the VisiWall.

"Quite the individual, sir."

"Sure is Hideki, and speaking of that, here is another."

vonKarma and crew walk up to Si Ling. vonKarma makes a short bow and offers his hand.

"Emperor Si Ling, nice to see you again. My congratulations on this great day for you."

Alkanphel peers again for an instant to Si Ling as he hears his response. 'Well played.You're coming along...' echoes in the Nenyan's mind as Alkanphel blinks, his eyes turning back to Nathicana. His demeanor, as far as she could see it, had not changed at all. He was, in fact, listening intently to what the woman was saying.

He grinned wryly. "Why thank you, Lady Nathicana. The pleasure is most certainly mine as well, and I'm heartened to see that perhaps one's 'reputation' is often a web of lies." He snickered, and chuckled slightly. "Unless it's a good one, of course. And yes, I will be sure to look in to your offer. We should find time to discuss it more at length."

"I'd be honored, my Lord Alkanphel. And, I look forward to it," she says with a smile. She turns and makes her way to the beverages, taking another glass of icewater, sipping slowly.

Unexpected ... and quite pleasant, she ponders, still smiling. I think Devon will be quite pleased. And at least there was no further comment on those 'dealings'. Very sly. Very smooth. She made a mental note to be very careful around that one.

Renate, she recognizes from the wedding a while back, and if she manages to catch her eye, nods respectfully, giving her a close-lipped smile.

It is not difficult for the Dread Lady to catch the Advisor's eye at all. And cultural differences aside it's probably fortunate that she did not give Renate a full-powered smile, or she'd probably bump into something.

As it is, Renate straightens somewhat and returns Nathicana's salutation cordially and respectfully.

Si Ling began to frame words in his mind to build a sentence to fling back at Alkanphel-

* * *

Semir-randil sighed. He had known this would happen. He did a very disturbing thing-

* * *

Visible through the VisiWall, which, drawn by the motion, magnifies the pertinant section of the outside-vision... and perhaps disturbingly to Si Ling, Semir-randil has taken to his feet... and is looking directly at Alkanphel. Amber eyes glitter with humour.

Clear and calm, with the quality of a cool breeze finally flowing through a long-malcontent and darkened forest, Alkanphel can hear Semir-randil say

As ever, Alkanphel, you lack tact. Do you lack the ability to carefully shield your words, or do you revel in the blatant, the bland, the boring? Or do you fear to raise your sword too far, lest the arm that wields it be cut forth? Do verbal barbs sting you, Alkanphel? Do you thus act so aggressive that your enemy is off-guard, and ill-prepared? Perhaps I could offer you lessons?

Si Ling began to frame words in his mind to build a sentence to fling back at Alkanphel-

* * *

Semir-randil sighed. He had known this would happen. He did a very disturbing thing-

* * *

Visible through the VisiWall, which, drawn by the motion, magnifies the pertinant section of the outside-vision... and perhaps disturbingly to Si Ling, Semir-randil has taken to his feet... and is looking directly at Alkanphel. Amber eyes glitter with humour.

Clear and calm, with the quality of a cool breeze finally flowing through a long-malcontent and darkened forest, Alkanphel can hear Semir-randil say

As ever, Alkanphel, you lack tact. Do you lack the ability to carefully shield your words, or do you revel in the blatant, the bland, the boring? Or do you fear to raise your sword too far, lest the arm that wields it be cut forth? Do verbal barbs sting you, Alkanphel? Do you thus act so aggressive that your enemy is off-guard, and ill-prepared? Perhaps I could offer you lessons?

Alkanphel grinned, and shot back a response, short and sweet: 'You are not deserving of my attention.'

Cavile, reclining on his couch, played his lyre softly, so that only those with the keenest of ears could hear the music. He sighed faintly as he caught the fairly loosely focused telepathic interplay between Alkanphel and the two Nenyans, and closed his eyes.

All three suddenly heard a quiet voice in their minds, slipping in gently, not thrusting fiercely into the forefront of their consciousnesses, but sliding into them like silk, swirling around, and bringing with it an air of tranquillity, and a faint tingle of pleasure, alongside a barely perceptably scent of lilac. The voice was musical, and hinted at gentle amusement, such as an adult might feel at a trio of unruly children squabbling in the garden.

Now, now little ones. This is party, not a battlefield. Relax and enjoy yourselves. There is no need to start butting your horns against each other like a trio of bulls in a field with only one cow.

Some keen ears do hear the music, as Renate von Saucken drifts nearer to Cavile.







So this is what he looks like in the flesh.







A quick smile as her thoughts wander toward stereotype. I expected him to be taller.


Measuring the couch it's just big enough that she could sit down without invading his space except - not human. No way to know. So she walks closer and raises an eyebrow.

Cavile hears cold, irritated words forming in his mind. Eavesdropping is beneath you.

Below, beyond a wall through which Semir-randil cannot see - but can be seen through - Semir returns to his 'seat' (more of a throne, really), and spares a gentle smile for Rialla.

Yet Alkanphel hears clearly - more carefully shielded from Cavile, this time; So you always say, and so you always disprove with your next words. Come, now. Despite the previous... administration... being so openly hostile, we are both well aware of certain... possibilities. Do not bite off your nose to spite your face, Alkanphel. Politeness may gain your more than you would think - or it might not. Yet it never hurts to try, from time to time. And truly, do you wish to be compared to that foul-mouthed idiot... what was his name... ah, yes... Reaven?

Cavile looked up as Renate approached, and, having risen gracefully to his feet, he bowed low before her, taking her hand to kiss.

“I do not believe that we have been introduced my lady. I am Prince Cavile al Pulcherise of the Empire of Kalessin.”

His voice caressed her ears as it whispered through the air toward her. Perfectly modulated, each word was quiet, yet clear, with a slightly musical resonance.

Renate's hand is slightly hotter than one would expect, and somewhat callused. The fingerless glove that covered most of it a few seconds ago prudently retreats before standing in the Prince's way. Where it was is skin tanned to the color of oak, covered with a slight golden down.

"A pleasure to finally meet you, Prince Cavile al Pulcherise." Slight hesitation choosing form of address, and while her accent is odd she mangles his name far less than might be expected. The voice is more a bugle to Cavile's harp, but restrained. "I am Senior Advisor Renate von Saucken of the Republic of the Territory. And I am something of an admirer of yours."

Alkanphel can't help but chuckle at the mention of Reaven.

He says nothing, his gaze shifting to Cavile. In a sort of self-mocking tone rare to the Imperials, he pulses a thought to the Kalessin noble: 'He started it!'

[ooc: some of you may have noticed this little bit tacked on the end of Ma-Tek's post. I hit "Edit" when I mean to hit "quote" and didnt notice it for several hours apparently. I hate it when that happens :x ]

OOC: Oops forgot about this :)

IC:
Huor stood at an undisclosed military airbase, wearing the state colours of green and gold, in finest jakk hair of course. The sleek Fancy arrived with impressive speed, setting down on the empty gunship pad a few metres away. Huor made his way over the ship. The iris opened, upon him reaching it. He stepped inside, greeted the pilot and took his seat. The journey took a lot less time than Huor expected, though he wasn’t use to travelling at over 2,000 m/s. Huor thanked the pilot as he exited. First he went through security, handed over his bag for safe keeping; at least that’s what security said. Second he was lead to a large room, occupied by many high ranking and important people. This was the first gathering Huor had been to and he decided he had better keep to himself for the time being. Nerwen had given him a list of names and pictures of the people attending on a small handheld device that security had let him keep. Huor was sure it would come in handy. First he decided to try some food before the ceremony started and he just managed to fill a plate before it did. He enjoyed the show the Nenyans put on and time passed quite quickly. Huor looked around the room; most of the people were still talking to each other, plotting no doubt. To his side was none other than Si Ling, he must have crept in when Huor wasn’t looking. Huor wasn’t sure if he should approach him now, he seemed to have something on his mind. He looked back at the parade...

The Parade passes by; the splendour of the IDF is shown for all to see - the Empire seemingly does not care who knows what they have, or how much of it is present in the capital at this time - and slowly, the land-based assets roll past, vanishing behind the Palace to who-knows-where.

Which is when the steady thrum in the air finally becomes noticeable. Before the Empress and the High Lord Commodore Semir-randil descend fighters, intercepters, bombers...

...and a Retribution class warship caps the display, hovering above rank after rank after rank of strike aircraft.

The crowd gasps-

-a shadow falls-

-and Rialla's voice booms out with supernatural intensity, swallowing the city in carefully amplified and modulated sound:

My People, I stand before you, body and spirit, the embodiment of your desire and victory; your honour, love, and duty; your vital future, and your agile past; I am the guide of your spirituality, the centre of your society; and you are my centre, my compass in time of trial, my love in times of desperation, my cradle in times of exhaustion. You are my Path; and I am yours.

Together we make up a sum greater than the whole of our two billion parts. And as is traditional, I today call upon all of the Bragoglindaegwaith to send their call of fealty to their new Empress, on this, the First Day of the Rule of the August Empress Rialla ux-Rihad II.

Bow your heads, all who are of my kin, and let your minds resound with the glory of your hearts; and let me feel your loyalty!

The Imperial Palace Guard, despite a decisive lack of visibility (all psionically gifted to a degree, as is required by their position), positively burn with collective energy. Not physically-

-the Call vibrates out through the Empire, reaching sixty million minds; and sixty million minds thrum in unison for an instant, as every living Nenyan of every age declares fealty to their monarch-

Rialla sags slightly under the pressure, but Semir-randil, head also bowed, supports her.

The sheer volume of psionic sound is tangible to every living being in the Empire capable of rudimentary thought; dogs bark, cats hiss, sheep baa, cows do what cows do - the whole Empire seemingly bends to one knee, mentally, and suddenly all becomes clear to the dignitaries; the greatest secret of the Empire of the Eternal Dawn is the sheer level of love that exists between all levels and segments of its society. Love thrums through the air, a tangible being swirling throughout the Empire, gaining mass as psionicists and non-psionicists alike are caught up-

-and just as fast as it had begun, a mere instant in time has passed, and nothing of what was there remains. The Call of Fealty has been made.

The Retribution class warship slowly turns and lifts away, holding the eyes of the population as she is escorted out by at least a thousand strike aircraft...

...gleaming, bright, gaudy sunshine is unleashed unto the surface once again; and the cloudless blue sky is revealed.

A pause in conversation:







It isn't just a speech, that. Call to the whole Empire it is, and as far as the Leopard Sow is concerned that isn't just people.







It's the Empire of the Eternal Dawn, and not far away from here there was a conversation some time ago. Rialla ux-Rihad couldn't really know who she was speaking to at the time, beyond the obvious knife-fighting foreigner.







The Leopard Sow does honor her agreements. Witness her agreeing to ride an odd near-human who once confused reality by first subverting her legend and then seducing her husband. She honors her agreement with the Empire.




She performs an act of no small importance.




Undramatically, Renate von Saucken falls asleep.





[OOC: This would be after a short Renate/Cavile conversation if we're on at the same time, I think]

Lesley gasps as the Imperial Capital falls into darkness to human eyes, but to her other senses, it burns brighter than ever.

The power is blinding to her weak empathic senses, and she passes out, slumped against D'ron.

"What the Hell?!" he excalims softly. He begins to turn to Alkanphel in anger just as he feels the psionic pulse, and blinks.

That's all. But he knows instantly what must have happened. The rumors were true. Nenyans did possess some extra senses. And somehow, they had all used them, and it had overwhelmed Lesley.

D'ron holds her close, and clears his mind, as much as he can. He would not add to the problem.

Jessica, on the other hand, squeals with joy as the psionic pulse passes over her.

Cortana feels nothing.

And amidst all the reaction to the empathic wave that rippled through the Empire an instant passed, perhaps the strangest event of the day occurs.

A woman, about five feet eight inches tall, and definitley not Nenyan, waltzs into the room.

Her eyes are gently speckled with green, yet they are clearly blue; delicate locks of warm blonde hair frame her jawline, cascading just about to the confines of the dips of her shoulders below. A sleekly curved jaw supports a perhaps overlarge nose that sits amidst a face of deep tranquility; unfairly perfect eyelashes flicker above her distracting blue-green eyes, and subtly curved but prominent cheeks complete the brooding beauty of the arrangement of her face.

A body - curved in all the right places - of strength and agility completes the image; power, beauty, and the lay of her eyelids - hooding brooding eyes quietly, allowing a hawkish gaze to rove free - suggesting a raging inferno of intelligence settled beneath.

Yet none of this is particuarly amazing.

No; what is truly amazing, is that she declares in a perfectly modulated tone (so all can clearly hear), "Hello, Ambassadors, assorted peoples of noble stature, ladies, gentlemen... I have been assigned as your Personal Diplomatic Aide for this day."

No... not this bit.

"My name is Sarah, and I am the Artificial Intelligence Representative for the Empire of the Eternal Dawn."

Yep. That'll be the amazing bit.

vonKarma smiles as Nathi leaves, knowing exactly what she plans to do. He turns and begins walking along the VisiWall.

"Quite the individual, sir."

"Sure is Hideki, and speaking of that, here is another."

vonKarma and crew walk up to Si Ling. vonKarma makes a short bow and offers his hand.

"Emperor Si Ling, nice to see you again. My congratulations on this great day for you."

Si Ling smiles mildly at the use of his old title, and bows his head marginally but respectfully. No need for all that grandiose behaviour all the time, now... now he could.... well, relax a little.

So he did.

He takes the offered hand - hoping vonKarma won't be able to percieve the thin sheen of plastic sprayed over his skin to prevent certain 'bad things' happening - and shakes firmly, but briefly.

"Your congratulations are, of course, most welcome. I trust you are enjoying the ceremony?"

At Sarah's voice, Cortana's head nearly spins around fast enough to leave her shoulder.

Her eyes widened. She had been unaware of Sarah possessing an avatar.

And a nice avatar it was.

She excused herself from the rest of the Federation group, quietly, and approached Sarah.

"Hello, Sarah." She extended her hand.

Sarah smiles radiantly; her own hand reaches out, but not without a small amount of trepidation-

{What will living touch feel like? - she wondered-}

-yet she takes the offered hand, and gently-but-firmly shakes the hand.

Are hands always this warm? Or warmer? Are some cooller?

{Don't be silly, Sarah-Self informed Sarah-Avatar. You're well aware that body temperature is nigh on identical for all humans, and only mildly different for most sentients. Mostly-}

Instantly she became aware of two things; one: Sarah-Self was prone to waffle; and two: just how accurate Bao had been; she may not have touched anyone since she had gained her avatar a few hours ago, but that was merely the real world. She had grown up, and lived a full life to eighteen years in a simulation; and it had been fairly sound, from what she had seen of reality. Perhaps it was modelled in-

She caught herself.

{Sarah-Self chuckled at Sarah-Avatar inwardly - the two were divulgent, seperate, yet invariably linked-}

"A distinct pleasure to meet you," she halts on the words a moment, "in the flesh, Lady Cortana."

Cortana smiles broadly at the slight hesitation, hiding some, but not all, of her amusement.

"It's an odd experience, isn't it? The first time? To feel the air on your skin? To touch living flesh?" Cortana's eyes go slightly blurry with memory. "I still remember the first time I used a solid avatar."

William and everyone else of his party turn around and look at the Sarah avater. William decides to be politicall and approaches her. Okay William remember. AI is good. Everything you were taught as a child is untrue. She will not turn on you first moment she gets. He thinks to himself as he approaches her.

He stands before the avater of Sarah and looks down upon her. He bows enough to show his respect, but not disrespect himself. "Greetings Sarah. You probably know me already, but still. I am William i Eldandil Xylon of New Avalon." He says and extends his hand to shake hers. He can't but help but test the AI and thusly makes his body temperature constantly change, and the same goes for the color of his eyes.

"Quite," Sarah replied to Cortana, smiling amiably. Her voice lowers, "This avatar is only a few hours old. Everything is still quite new... in a way."

She looks as if she's about to say more, but William's voice cuts off anything she was about to say.


"Greetings Sarah. You probably know me already, but still. I am William i Eldandil Xylon of New Avalon."

Another hand to shake, and none of the trepidation with this one. Again, a firm but gentle briefness rules any impression gained from the handshake.

Sarah blinks rapidly. Bluntly, brushing formalities aside, she looks William in the eye and blurts, "Are you ill?"

Double post

Triple post

William can not help but laugh a little and stops his temperature and eye color changing. His eye's set on a very gentle shade of blue. "No I am not ill. But thank ye for your concern." He says. Let's see if this machine can blush. "May I comment you on your beauty milady? I have never seen an avater quite as beautifull as yourself." He says and bows kissing her hand gallently before straightening up again.

Cavile smiled genially;

"An admirer? And what have I done to gain your admiration my lady?"

Admirer? Could she be the one...

"You don't perchance have any interest in.... exotic flowers?"

And then the psionic wave swept over the palace. As Renate passed out, Cavile blinked once in surprise.

Such power! I have seen greater, but not with this texture, this resonance! There is no hate, no anger fuelling it, yet it is not the cold strength of law, devoid of passion. It is embued with an emotion which I cannot put a name to, yet it is not entirely alien. Maybe I felt it once, many years ago. Whatever this is, it is beautiful.

Bob's distraction with Nathicana ends abruptly with the psionic wave. He notices an odd feeling pass through him, and feels a presence in his mind, and at last he knows what the psionic research is about- directly. But the feeling isn't pleasant, it's not only like millions of voices calling out at once, but millions of eyes, staring at him. He sees the reactions of those around him; generally awe, wonder, surprise or steely calm. His IIA men notice it, too; one of them, barely noticably, makes a move as if for a weapon, but then stops sheepishly.

Bob tries to refrain from screaming. Finally, it is over. He glares around him as if checking for enemies, his paranoia refusing to back down. He is just about to announce to nobody in particular how right Toby was, how evil the Elves and all their half-bred kin were, when suddenly Sarah the AIR for the EOTED makes her entrance and announcement.

Bob is enthralled. The technology was marvellous. Yes, Suzy Jo still pulsed and tinkered with semi-sentience, and yes, MetaPratt One was surely a King of computers-- but this was different. This was beauty, and perfection, and Bob's shrewd mind immediately saw a myriad of uses, directions, possibilities.

Two others make their moves before he can, however. He looks at them with concealed disgust, suddenly feeling his usual dull hatred towards most. Their positive reactions to the mind-blast bothered him the most, and left him feeling strangely inadequate.

He hangs back silently, not sure of what conversation he could have with the thing anyway.

Cortana blinked at William's statement. Well, that was insulting, to some degree.

He hadn't looked her in the eyes, yet, so perhaps he didn't know she wasn't human. So she ignored the insult.

Renate nods ands begins to answer. And then it begins, and the conversation becomes a thing of secondary importance.



It isn't the Territorial woman who nods to Cavile as it... no, she... does something, but something entirely different that had been there all the time, watching. Something that might have been described by a Kalessin noble after the war in the Bay of Turath.



And then it nods cordially behind the woman's eyes and pulls back to where it came from. Renate von Saucken looks like she is about to say "oh", and then her body neatly sits down on the couch and she's fast asleep.



[OOC: Looks like perfectly ordinary sleep. Heck, is perfectly ordinary sleep.]

Nathi is still quite impressed at the proceedings, enjoying the pomp and pagentry, even if for her tastes it is a bit over the top - never having been one for huge public spectacles. At the wave, not having the abilities of so many present, Nathicana pauses, one brow arching up questioningly.

Odd ...

She notes the varied reactions of some in the room, and her brow arches a touch further. Granted, she's surprised enough at the relatively unfamiliar calm feeling of warmth that seems to seep through her. There's no reason for it, not here of all places. She frowns. Perhaps an odd reaction if one wasn't aware of the memories and emotions that come with it. And yet, a part of her longs to hold onto the feeling as it fades, leaving as quickly as it came. Nathicana finds herself longing for it to return.

Her brow now furrowed in thought, she casts a glance at Sarah as she makes her entrance. At her introduction, Nathi blinks.

An AI? And looking so ... human. No, not human. Humans lack that perfection of form and voice. Of course, knowing the Nenyans, somehow, I'm not surprised at the level of artistry. Gods, that's quite the accomplishment. Wonder if Shodey's familiar with her.

She watches as Cortana speaks with the graceful sentient, and the corners of her mouth turn down slightly at Williams rather rude interruption. She's nothing if not a stickler for proper behaviour at state functions. Making a note, she tucks that away for later perusal, along with other observations she's made of the attendees so far.

Seeing Xeruyu still speaking with Si Ling, she quietly drifts over, waiting for their conversation to end so that she might extend her greetings. He had been quite gracious, in her understanding, when he had visited her own humble home. And it was out of respect for this man that she had attended in the first place, regardless of the opportunity to meet and mingle with others. Anything less would have been ... rude.

While she waits, she glances casually about the room again, smiling in spite of herself as her gaze passes over Cavile, though she wonders slightly at the apparently sleeping Renate.

Again, odd. Damn, will I ever get used to all these strange folk and their equally strange cultures and abilities? Makes my eyes twitch, it does. Diversity of course is good, but lord can it be taxing on the nerves at times.

Frank looks for somewhere to sit. The spectacle of the empathic oath of fealty to Rialla is utterly lost on him, not appearing to touch him in any way - indeed, the reactions of the others cause him to quirk an eyebrow. It's not confusion - the empathic abilities of Nenyans are documented - but neither does he understand what the others must be feeling. Then again, anyone with empathic or psionic abilities who wasn't wholly rapt in the event would notice him to be a complete dead zone for that type of power anyway. His red eyes move over the room, and seem to find no-one currently free to speak who will provide for interesting conversation.

He goes back to the buffet, takes a different selection of fruit and juice, and takes a seat to allow him to overtly watch continuing celebrations and covertly flick his eyes at people and read body language.

Having no pupils probably helps, making it hard to judge where he's looking.

William can not help but laugh a little and stops his temperature and eye color changing. His eye's set on a very gentle shade of blue. "No I am not ill. But thank ye for your concern." He says. Let's see if this machine can blush. "May I comment you on your beauty milady? I have never seen an avater quite as beautifull as yourself." He says and bows kissing her hand gallently before straightening up again.

{Sarah was aware of a great many things at once. Firstly, this man was... treating her with the most disdain she had ever encountered. For a semantic intelligence to fail to notice such a thing would be... ridiculous.

His words spat it. His demeanour yelled it.

A word framed in her mind.

A single, exclaimed word. Rude!

Her 'mind' - CoreSelf - had digested every syllable he had spoken with unfailing accuracy, noting every tonality, every shift in facial expression logged, and stored along with reams of other data-}

Sarah-Avatar's tone becomes haughty. "Truly? How unbelievably shallow of you. Tell me, would you grace yourself with my presence were I not to have such a pleasing countenance? Would your words weave different patterns, shielding different secret thoughts? Would your fear be of a different nature, were I a fifteen feet tall mech with machine guns clutched in either paw?"

She scowls. "Ah, but I see you dislike having your own exemplary level of rudeness returned openly. I may be a machine, Highness, but I am not stupid. Furthermore, I might note, my physical properties are quite customizable at will also. And to answer your next question-"

Sarah promptly dissolves.

She doesn't just... vanish into gas, or turn into liquid; it starts with her hair. It nestles against her head, clustoring into wound clumps of writhing matter - snakes might spring to mind, an image of writhing snakes, filled with agony and weaving a web around the top of an impossibly beautiful face-

-the hair curls into a lump-

-and flows down her body, altering its dimensions as it does.

The change isn't vast; but a few curves vanish here, and a few appear there...

...and Sarah is suddenly quite male in appearance. A deep baritone voice asks, "This better?"

And then the process disturbingly reverses with far greater rapidity than it had managed with the first attempt.

William was quite suprised at her reaction. Defiinatly not a human simulation. He thought to himself.
"I am sorry. But I am not used to dealing with..." Machines, robots, artificial intelligence, electronic intelligence, mockery's of life. "...beings such as yourself. As our history might show you it was untill recently that lifeforms such as yourself have been given rights. I am just curious that's all." And my what a specimen she is. They would never let us expiriment on her. "But to anwser your question. I would act much different were your appearence different. But in any case I would speak with you. - Again I am sorry." He says and bows. "I shall no longer be so rude. And will now take my leave of you for now." He says and walks back to his group.
AI. I will never understand them. Better set things straight again as soon as possible.

William looks at Nejure, Nataliya still clinging to his arm. "Nejure. Would you please tell Sarah. As soon as you two speak again. That I am dreadfully sorry for my rudeness. My curiosity got the best of me." He says and bows slightly.

Cortana finds herself blinking again at Sarah's transformation.

A Nanotech Avatar? Interesting. Cortana could see the possibilities in it, and while she had some control over her appearance in this avatar, it wasn't that much. Mostly limited to hair and eye color changes. And of course, other forms of clothing.

But she also didn't have to use this avatar, and could, in fact assume any avatar she needed. She even had a 'fifteen foot tall mech with machine guns clutched in either paw.' Well almost.

it was only four meters and had different weapons, but the principle was the same. She'd never used it, but she could.

She chuckles softly as William beat a hasty retreat. To Sarah, she says, finishing her laugh, "He was intertesting."

Sarah catches the eye of a clearly furious Dejure; and casts her gaze away, passing over a snorting Si Ling and settling on a chuckling Cortana.

{-such diversity of reaction-}

"Perhaps," Sarah admits wryly, "I shouldn't have done that. - I think he was quite mortified... Oh, dear."

She doesn't look pleased; but she doesn't look overly bothered, in truth. He isn't Nenyan, after all - and strangely, her programming doesn't actually cover humanity... in any form.

Her voice lowers.

"...but such things are sent to try us, or so my Creator always says. - Lady Cortana... it is good to see you. I again offer you my deepest gratitude."

* * *

Si Ling snorted the laughter away as he waved a hand at Nejure, indicating that he should smooth the incident away.

* * *

Nejure nods, almost without motion.

"She is merely young," the Nenyan named Nejure with the eyes of fire spoke softly, "and should be cut the small amount of slack that youth always brings. I truthfully state that she meant no disrespect; she is unused to the flesh, and is rather more used to stating her mind. Perhaps an error in her upbringing," he smiles slightly, "but who can tell such things?"

William nods as Nejure explains himself. "I see. I hope I can speak with... her again and set things straight."

"It was nothing, Sarah. One must care for one's sisters, after all." She pauses. "You know, I don't think he even realized I was not human." She disdainfully pulled a piece of her purple hair around where she could see it.

"I'd have thought this would have given it away. Or if nothing else, my eyes." Her eyes flash deep purple as she says this, slightly upset, but not bothered by it.

"One of the things you will be forced to learn, in physical form, is that humans are particularly susceptible to fleshly temptations, and I must admit, your current form is more than enough to do that to many men. And probably a number of women, now that I think about it. But you'll get used to it. And you'll eventually become better at dealing with those people. Not that I wasn't tempted to just hit him myself." This last discourse is said softly, kindly, as an older sister to a younger.

Sarah smiles softly, and nods in agreement. "Dealing with people via audio communication is far different from face-to-face communication. - Your Federation and our Empire grow ever closer, Lady Cortana. These are good days indeed; are you aware, for example, that one of your very citizens is soon to become the High Lady of Vilya Elenosto?"

Sarah smiles, her voice never having raised much beyond a whisper - a clear, concise whisper, however.

"In days gone by, that would constitute the sealing of an alliance... or so I am told. Do you think such old beliefs still hold true in any way?"

Cortana's eye widen at the mention of Danielle, though Cortana does not know about whom Sarah is refering. No one in the Federation did.

And as Cortana's mind grappled with the shock of that statement, a portion of her dealt rationally with it.

It slammed over the airwaves, back into the FedNet, and immediately growled out a question. Who? Who what? was obvious to the other EI in the Federation, though.

Most of the electronic minds reeled under the ferocity of her question, confused, but began to respond with negative information.

As Sarah finished speaking, Cortana eyes return to their normal size, and responds, "I don't know much about the old beliefs. Though in days gone by I would have thought it to have been a lady of one political entity married to a lord of another, and we have none such in the Federation to marry an Imperial Lord. To whom are you referring then?"

Just then, Cortana manages to wake Gerald up. And he tells her. Danielle Pariskova. Danielle Pariskova was presumed dead in the destruction of Beruitis. Which confirmed Security's suspicion that EOTED had had at least one agent present in Dor Lomin at the time. Cortana even isolated the entry vector, as well. First usage of an X# outside the Empire. Impressive. All these things connected in her mind before Sarah could respond.

Sarah's response is concise: "High Lady Danielle Pariskova (I do not know her lineage), the consort (and as I understand it) wife to be of High Lord Aglar ux-Rihad, son of the Crown Prince of the Last Nenyan Empire. Imperial Blood, you know. Very good... catch." She grins briefly at the last.

Cortana snorts a laugh at the last. Semantic Intelligences....

But.... son of a crown prince as an intelligence operative? Seemed rather odd.

Cortana delved into the records that remained of Palpastine, attempting to discover what she could of Danielle's lineage.

She managed to retrieve the file.

Danielle Pariskova
Age: 20
ID Number: 2345-86-90871
Occupation: Student, Barmaid

Father: Daniel Pariskova(D), Military. Classified (Black Eagle).
Mother: Angela Pariskova(D), Military Civilian, Medical.

Interesting. Cortana could of course access Black Eagle files, but had no reason to, at the moment. So she didn't.

Cortana attempted to link the file to Sarah, hoping she received it.

"Does that help?"

Nathicana starts to make a move for her knife, but on taking in the scene more carefully, she smoothly changes her motion, looking more as though she'd shivered slightly. Still, she watches Sarah's rather disturbing transformation with wide eyes, her grip tightening on her glass - remembering this time not to break it.

She does shudder then, glaring slightly at William - of course, it was all his fault she had shown such discomfort in public. Situation normalizing, she sniffs disdainfully, and turns her attention elsewhere in irritation.

The man she noticed earlier speaking with Renate catches her eye as he fills a plate from the heavily laden food tables. And something she didn't notice before gives her pause. His eyes.

Cybernetic? Another not-quite human, or perhaps an EI?

She politely ingores the conversation between Si Ling and vonKarma - or at least seems to. It wouldn't be appropriate to be seen eavesdropping after all - and quietly observs the strange man from a distance.

{She absorbed the information readily. Hungrily. Sarah's avatar carried a form of her own invention - capable of intercepting data from most medium's, in fact, and highly useful to the intelligence services. DCDs, they were sometimes called - but they were known by several names-}

"...quite helpful, yes," Sarah returned, the smile seemingly fixed on her lips, "and quite surprising, too. In more ways than you possibly know already; you see, the Lady Danielle Pariskova will be the first member of Humanity to ever sit on the Executive Council, or serve in the executive branch of any Nenyan-dominated government in history."

Her eyebrows flit upwards to emphasize the point silently.

Cortana smiled in response to Sarah's quite attractive smile.

"Always a pleasure to be helpful, Sarah."

Attractive? What the hell? You're an idiot. Sister. She's your sister.

"But I'm sure I'm taken up time Ambassador Dejure would have liked you to spend circulating."

Asshole hacker. Let myself get distracted. I'll show him.

Three thousand kilometers away, a computer exploded, as sirens sounded. He'd be joining the military, or be facing life in prison. Unless he was too young, in which case, he'd be reeducated. Cortana didn't bother to find out. But when they were that good, you didn't let them waste there talent on rebellious activities.

"I'll leave you to circulate, then, and return to watching the ceremony." Cortana smiles again. "If you make it over there," she waved to indicate the rest of the FSP delegation, "I'll introduce you."

With a final smile, and a flash of her cloak, Cortana returned to watching the ceremony.

Frank didn't notice Nathicana watching him; didn't seem to, at least, although it was impossible to judge where his eyes were. Although not listening in, as such, on the conversation between Sarah and Cortana, he was paying attention to their bodylanguage. He was also watching D'ron, Jessica, and Lesley ... and Si Ling and Alkanphel. He wasn't particularly perturbed by the Maia's presence, but better the sharply-dressed vaguely effeminate Melkorian ambassador than the blatantly effeminate one from Kalessin.

If he'd cared about such things, he would have felt rather threatened by his total lack of magic power. As it was, well - he had less to lose than anyone else there, so didn't think he'd present much of a target.

Besides, this apple-pear juice combination was delish.

Si Ling smiles mildly at the use of his old title, and bows his head marginally but respectfully. No need for all that grandiose behaviour all the time, now... now he could.... well, relax a little.

So he did.

He takes the offered hand - hoping vonKarma won't be able to percieve the thin sheen of plastic sprayed over his skin to prevent certain 'bad things' happening - and shakes firmly, but briefly.

"Your congratulations are, of course, most welcome. I trust you are enjoying the ceremony?"

"It is most impressive. Allow me to introduce Command Agent Ropponmatsu and Mr. Hideki from the Karmabaijan Special Projects Agency." They both bow their heads respectfully at Si Ling, but do not speak. "Enjoying your retirement? Karmabaijan will always welcome you if you are so inclined to go galavanting around the solar system." vK notices Nathi walk up. "Not a bad place to spend some time, eh Nathi?"

Nathicana was stirred from her observations by vonKarma's question. She turns, flashes him a brilliant smile, and nods.

"Quite impressive. Beautiful country, and people dare I add."

She turns slightly to Si Ling, having been brought into the conversation somewhat. Smiling warmly, though close-lipped, she makes a small, graceful courtsey.

"A wonderful celebration, Si Ling. My congratulations on your daughter, and best wishes to you as you pass on your reign." Pausing a moment, she continues. "You showed me great courtesy when you visited my humble home. I have not forgotten."

Si Ling executes yet another bow, but not as respectful a bow as the one he had graced Nathicana with in another time and place. He is, after all, no longer in a position to be quite so... pompous.

Quietly, he smiles, and returns the bowing of heads to the people he is introduced to - although, to be fair, he doesn't actually feel any need to do so. It is merely respect.

He answers in a very particular order, however; "Most definitley enjoying my retirement; though not so much of the retiring has happened just yet. And I do not forget your gracious offer; I may perhaps visit someday. I have a great many places I wish to see, however," and his smile grows.

His head turns slightly, focus shifting from the group from Karmabaijan to Lady Nathicana.

"Deeply honoured to find you here, Lady Nathicana. Deeply honoured. I would most enjoy taking the honour upon myself for the splendour of these celebrations, but they were mostly arranged by Rialla's personal staff, you understand. - And courtesy is given where it is due, Lady. It was my honour."

Another pause. The gaze sweeps back the way it came.

"A pleasure to meet you both, Command Agent, Mr. Hideki, I'm certain."

She can't help but wonder again at the respect Si Ling shows.

What on earth have I ever done in my rule to catch attention here? That's enough to give one pause.

"Of course. And I hope to pass on my appreciation of the proceedings to the staff, and the Empress should I get the opportunity. It was a pleasure seeing you again, Si Ling. I hope it won't be the last time we meet. Now, if you'll excuse me," she says, tilting her head respectfully to Si Ling, nodding to the Karmabaijani agents, and giving vonKarma a friendly pat on the shoulder.

She gives them all a final smile, and makes her way back to the tables, refilling her glass of water, and casually stands next to the strange man who caught her eye earlier. Giving him a sidelong glance, she says offhandedly, "Enjoying the goings on, or merely carrying out your duty?"

Interesting. She comes and talks to me, finally.

"Oh, I always love meeting new people." Frank stands and turns, smiles at her, offers out his hand. "Especially when there's so many ... hubrises ... all in one place. Fascinating, no?"

He turns to take in the room, his red eyes revealing nothing.

"And invitations such as this are always surprising. So many people with their prides worn on their sleeves. Have you tried this yet? It's like a pear in taste but a banana in texture. Very bizarre."

She takes his hand, giving it a firm squeeze, though remaining ladylike about it.

"Quite," she agrees, without specifying exactly what part of all that she means. "Nathicana D'Aquisto dal Lupo. And no, I don't believe I had tried that as yet."

His eyes ... again, his eyes. It would be rude to ask, but ...

Reaching out, she takes one of the indicated fruits and delicately samples it, watching the crowd as well, and watching him from the corner of her eye.

He gives a tiny incline of his head, politely, and whilst staring at the viewscreen his flat, detail-less eyes study Cavile intently noting his movement and manner of speech.

"Frank Besson. Honoured to make your acquaintance, Nathicana. Always a pleasure to meet a ruler who isn't so obsessed by their own microscopic importance that they don't feel the urge to stick nine or ten titles in front of their name." He flashes a grin and then it's gone.

She can tell from the way he moves that he's pretty fit, although nothing compared to the seven shades of rampant eliteness around him. Probably just very good natural genes, and some military service in his distant past. He's not got any sort of weapon, not even one thinly disguised as "ceremonial" or "sentimental".

However, he's a bit old now, and it's unlikely he defeated any God-Kings of Fthnarg, ordered the ortilleriage of six worlds, or has seen horrors beyond the ken of mortal man even in his prime.

Other than the eyes, in fact ... he's pretty average.

"Oh, arrogant I may be on occasion, but I have no such illusions," she says with a soft laugh. "Only human, after all. Time will tell whether my brief stay on this earth was of any note. It's a pleasure to make your aquaintance."

She scans the crowd, taking note of different people, whom they're speaking with, the way they hold themselves, their expressions. As always, weighing and measuring. This of course, includes Frank himself, though she tries not to make it too obvious.

Almost a breath of fresh air speaking to someone more down to earth. It's taxing with all the pomp and circumstance of so many of these gatherings.

"If I might ask, what nation you represent? Far too many unfamiliar faces here. Not unexpected, given the influence of the host nation." She pauses a moment, considering.

"And if I might be so bold ... your eyes. I don't recall seeing the like."

"Ah. So many people could do with admitting that they're only human. Or elven, or whatever else they happen to be. And I represent the Dominion of Whispering Voices. My eyes - whilst I won't claim them to be unique in colour of course - are red for the same reason that those of all my countrymen are red. And, I daresay, the same reason that that man's eyes are blue, or that lady's green." He looks at Nathicana again, a winsome expression, and shrugs. "Just the way God wanted us to be, you see."

Hum-de-dum. She's pleasant, and a little less limp and effeminate than several of the Arda representatives. Haha. How I do crack myself up. Thank goodness for being unable to broadcast thoughts ... although ... those Nenyans looked so happy. So - complete? At peace? Unified? I do almost wish, that just for a moment, I could understand what that had felt like. To be part of a huge, happy collective conscious rather than to share my mind only with a mostly-errant voice. Having said that ... hmm. I am sure the Jungian department at my Alma Mater would be most interested in a report from here. Royal funding for mental collectives and shared consciousness is still way up, I think. Especially since we can only experiment via hiring foreigners.

Nathicana could see that for a moment his smiling eyes slipped and looked a little sad, but only for a very brief moment - if she hadn't been paying attention, it would have slipped right by her.

"Pride, they say, goeth before a fall," she observes, her eyes passing over several delegates, including the Nenyans, never lingering long on any in particular.

She smiles back at his explanation of eye color. "Well then, if God himself so ordained, who am I to question why? A unique quality, to be sure."

All of them? Set apart so? I've never heard of such a thing. Their genetics would certainly be something to get a look at, I daresay.

Nathicana does indeed note the change, however small, always one for observation.

"Something ... troubling you, Frank?" she asks quietly, taking a slow sip of her water.

"Oh, you know ... the bigger the 'in-group', the harder it is to be outside it, sometimes." He gestures at the reverent Nenyans. "Must be quite something, you know? To be part of such a big collective. To be ... well, together."

He doesn't sigh, but he does exhale. "I wonder if Nenyans can be born autistic?" he follows up. "Or if you could introduce an autistic person to such a collective and cure them. Wouldn't that be something? Achieving in a brief moment what it takes brilliant psychiatrists years of communication to achieve."

Nathicana looks on, her brows furrowing slightly at the thoughts his initial comments bring up.

"I don't know that I'd want to be a part of such a thing. I place to high a value on my individuality, I'm afraid. It's bad enough at times having voices pop in your head due to com lines. I'd hate to think what it would be being so intricately linked with so many others. In knowing the Angelans, perhaps I've developed a bit of a bias in that direction."

She shrugs, dismissing it. "There are many other ways to feel a 'togetherness' at any rate, leaving collectivism out of it. As for the autism question, to be truthful, I have no idea. Surely there are sufficient medical studies available for research?"

Her eyes narrow only slightly, and she continues on in a softer voice. "You have something specific in mind, don't you? I suppose approaching the Nenyan's about it would be prudent, unless this is more of a quiet endeavor. I admit I have no working knowledge on the matter, though it would be invaluable to a number of people should such a cure be found."

He listens to her words as he tries yet another variety of fruit juice.

Not a single fermented drink. So horrific.

He smiles bravely, nevertheless. "Well - actually I've never heard of autistics being cured at all. I would imagine in all the races to find out just who has the best psychic powers in the world and put them to the most passe military usage, such little things as the mental health of unfortunates are completely ignored. I may ask a Nenyan about it. However - I didn't have anything specific in mind. Odd - why do you ask?"

"I hadn't either, which is why your idea intrigued me," she says, quietly sipping her ice water, observing. "And true enough, it seems everyone is always racing to put the next mark on their shield for military accomplishments rather than common welfare. Even in a nation such as my own we do not forget the less fortunate."

"As for why?" She shrugs slightly, a little crooked smile turning up the corners of her lips in a slightly mischievous manner. "You put an idea in my head, and I simply followed the course. If anything, I freely admit to a thirst for knowledge. And I've always funded the sciences well in our nation - they're an important field of study. Were such a cure possible, of course I'd want to take part in some way. And if autism, what else could be cured or worked with in a mix of science and the more ethereal 'talents' of such people?" Her eyes glitter with excitement at the possibility of new fields of study, new possibilities.

And she blinks, then smiles sheepishly. "Frank, I'm sorry. You simply set my mind to thinking. Afraid I've been rather distracted of late. Something new to ponder was a welcome change."

Refilling her water, she turns back to him with a pleasant smile. "Again, I'm sorry. Idly going on like that and all ... silly of me. These functions can be tiring enough without having to listen to me yammer on about things. It's been a pleasure, Frank ... truly. I'll leave you free to mingle, unless of course you'd rather stay and tell me more about your nation."

She speaks with a sincere expression of 'whatever you please', clearly not in a position to take offence at either choice, simply stating a fact.

Cavile, seeing that Renate's breathing was steady and hearing her strong heartbeat, which was just audible over the hum of conversation, muttered a short incantation, which sent a soft Zephyr down to caress her face, in the hope that the cool breeze would awaken her gently.

Frank didn't answer for a moment, his flat eyes roving over the others gathered there before he replied. "Well ... I'd feel somewhat ... embarrassed ... to talk about such a humble nation as mine in such great company. Perhaps you'd be willing to tell me a little about your nation? I think so far all I've heard about you was that you gave the Dominion a lot of grief whilst we were in it. Some of the free radio stations made quite a big thing of that."

He puts down the glass he is holding, and wipes his hands off on a napkin which he then discards onto his plate.

"You tell me about yours, I'll tell you about mine, maybe?"

Outside, the Parade is changing colour.

At least, from a distance, that's what it looks like - but when the zoom re-applies (having ceased just thirty seconds previous), it becomes clear that the populace has been allowed to literally spill out onto the Parade; and they're revelling.

However, the colours are not quite as thick as one might expect. There is a mild lacking in clothes in many segments of the crowd, but whenever such a segment sweeps into view, the zoom shrinks back on that section until the people pass.

The faint sounds of music and singing can be heard; apparently this portion is a celebration of the celebrations that were just being celebrated by the flyover.

The wind blows lightly, and Renate does indeed wake up. There's a moment where she takes stock, then she shakes her head gently and makes a stroking motion as if the zephyr were a friendly cat. She doesn't seem conciously aware of it though.

A blink. "Ah. Thank you, Prince. I seem to have forgotten my manners." Beat, and a smile. "Yes, I do have some related interests. The idea was mine, but a friend helped me express it with flowers."

"Oh come on now, I thought we'd just established there's too much of that silliness of rank and such. Humility is a fine and well, but this is hardly the place for it." She gives him a wry grin, pausing for another sip of water. "As they say though, quid pro quo."

"We're just a humble little nation ourselves with what I'd like to think is a rich history and heritage, and a bright future," she says casually. "As for that now dead alliance, true, I suppose I did comment on occasion, though I'd hardly call it 'a lot of grief', really. I find the media tends to make more of such things than the situation actually warrants."

She speaks of the matter dismissively, though her eyes hold a little heat. "I've maintained good relations with some of the members as they've moved on. I see no problem there."

"And, yourself?"

Nathi alternates watching him, the crowd, and the continuing scenes through the visiwall, her brows arching only slightly at what she thinks she sees reflected there.

Oh surely not ...

D'ron chuckles as he realizes why the wall keeps zooming in and out.

He had no problem with it. He might not do it himself, though.

It was after all legal in the Federation was well. He saw Jessica staring unabashedly though, and tapped her shoulder. The look which caught her eyes reminded her of her place.

D'ron stroked Lesley's cheek, and he felt her smile. She was amused by these Nenyans, as they usually seemed so proper and reserved.

This was somewhat of a refreshing change.

Cortana stared in shock for a small moment, 15 milliseconds, to be precise. An eternity for an EI.

She then returned to her fellows from the Federation, to finish watching the ceremony.

Bumps into the thread. "Oh, did I post as the Black? Silly me. Sorry, K."

Frank nodded, possibly making eye contact, possibly not - very hard to say, really. "Bright future, indeed? I think we all here would hope that. And yes, the media is often given to slight ... overenthusiasm." He pauses as a particular scene is hastily zoomed out from on the vidwall.

"Ahem. The nation I represent is generally content to be left to its own devices. We've been somewhat unlucky in that the one alliance we joined - our High Council seem to think that having multiple memberships is just begging for a conflict of interest - was a very ... overt ... alliance. Still, when required we helped them, when not we've pretty much stayed out of the whole political scene. Same with CENNA, now. Whispering Voices is a very ... reluctant nation ... when it comes to outside dealings. That means every time we do involve ourselves, we have to make sure we achieve something that counts. As for history - well, we certainly have a long one. Although nothing like as long as everyone else here would claim, I'm sure." He grins, nods towards the representative of Kalessin, and gestures vaguely towards Alkanphel and the Nenyans. Then ...

"I say!" he mutters, sounding scandalised, as the camera doesn't quite zoom out in time to hide something. He then studiously goes back to eating fruit.

Nathicana studies his eyes as they speak, intrigued. She finally nods in understanding ... and approval. "I agree. Far too many of these nations feel the need to have their fingers in as many pies as possible. Makes for messy politics. I myself have only agreed to two, and thus far, both have served my purposes well, for the most part." She quietly sips her drink, observing his reactions and carefully refraining from an amused smile.

"For ones so reluctant to outside dealings however, I find myself ... surprised that you'd have joined CENNA. It seems a rather involved and entangling body. Far too much room for outside influence and meddling in my humble opinion. And with some of the nations involved ..." She trails off, her eyes lightly touching on several delegates in a brief but meaningful way. "Still, I understand the desire for autonomy and prudent dealings. I prefer that method myself, and support the right of others to do likewise. Nations and leaders should not involve themselves in matters which do not concern them. Soveriegn rights must be upheld."

She grimaces slightly. "And there I go, lecturing again. Some habits are hard to break. As for your heritage, I daresay the richness thereof cannot always be measured in years, nor need it be compared to others for validation. I think perhaps, this is an area I'll look into upon my return home. You've sparked my interest."

At the continued antics of the EOTED populace on screen, she blinks, both brows raised in surprise. "Quite the ah ... interesting people." She softly clears her throat, and takes another sip of water, though she doesn't make any particular effort to ignore them.

Cavile smiled gently;

"Your friend has impeccable taste as concerns flowers. Truly, the potential deadliness of the Orchid but increases its beauty, although it is true that the sleep of the Orchid is something best shared. And what has caused you to admire one such as myself?"

Frank nods. "Interesting is ... one ... way of putting it." He turns away from the vidwall, and sits down on a nearby chair so as to face Nathicana as opposed to the Nenyans.

Led in debauchery by those horrendous subhumans, Frank thinks to himself as he puts on a carefully neutral smile.

"Good point about history, all though I'd endeavour to say few nations have long and boring histories - nations that don't innovate tend to die, and innovation is born of chaos. And as for CENNA ... well. It gave us friends in an entirely new crowd, as it were. Even if the latest unpleasantness - that messy destruction of that rogue nation of Automagfreek - indicates we may need to become more involved in current politics."

<Sips and whispers under his breath>

"How many of the people here do you think can hear this whisper with their oversensitive overtrained ears? Haha."

He gets a mischievous grin, briefly.

Poor man. The Nenyan revelling truly isn't sitting well with him. Now the question is, is it a personal or social attitude? Something to know if I have dealings with these people in the future.

Nathicana remains standing, nodding in agreement to his comments. "Adapt and live, stagnate and die. Without challenge I dare say, few tend to rise to the occasion. And with politics - I've noticed that even if one chooses not to become enmeshed in current affairs, one does at least need to keep abreast of them. What you don't know can and will hurt you."

She chuckles softly at his whispered comment, thanks to her hearing augments, and can't resist the urge to make one of her own.

"More than you might imagine, I'm sure." Casting him a mischeivous smile in return, she fills her glass once more with water. "It's been a pleasure talking with you, Frank. Thank you for helping me pass the time in such a pleasant manner. I hope we run into each other again." And with a polite tilt of her head, she slowly wanders off to stand idly watching the visiwall on occasion, though seemingly lost in thought, only half paying attention to the enthusiastic commoners.

A slow nod.

"If you would care to recall the Battle of the Bay of Turath, Prince - there was a strike on the Territory's battlegroup from the Kalessin squadron."

Pause. A wince, wrestled down by raw willpower.

"There was a cost for that, Prince. It cost me a great deal, and while I was recovering I heard the story of your serenading a band of Spartans. It didn't stop the pain, but..." a smile, not showing teeth, "the story helped me come through."

"Turath...."

Cavile paused, as if in thought;

"I do vaguely remember hearing about a minor skirmish there from a guest. There were even rumours that some elementals had died! I don't follow wars that closely. Such dull affairs."

He strummed his lyre softly;

"Spartans? What might they be? Describe them, and I might remember the incident in question..."

A chuckle at the Prince's dismissal of Turath as a minor skirmish, and a raising of a glass to acknowledge his scoring a point.



"I must disagree, Prince - but then I was made that way." She relaxes back into the couch with a complex motion. "I was... recuperating at the time, when the machines sifted out a story about a Kalessin noble coming to play his lyre at a party of some kind. It turned out that this artist was accosted by some locals and made short work of them."



"Maybe you don't think it was much, Prince. Maybe it wasn't. But for some reason I truly enjoyed it. And it was oddly appropriate that a Kalessin man did that, don't you think?"

"A party...."

Cavile absentmindedly played a short sequence of notes on his lyre, and as he did so, his features seemed to soften, becoming more...elven. Then he stopped, and his face returned to normal.

"Ah, I think that I do recall the incident in question. A group of rather large buffoons with somewhat oversized guns tried to shoot me for some reason. Why they did it completely baffles me, but then I have never fully understood much of what Young-Kingdomers do. Naturally, honour demanded that I not allow them to escape unchastised."

He smiled amusedly;

"Though at the time, I found the whole event rather tiresome, since it prevented me from attending the party, I'm most pleased that it gave some small level of pleasure to one so beautiful as yourself, and even more pleased that I was thus able to alleviate suffering caused by another of my people."

The blast of a horn - loud, brash, yet with a sweet underlying quality that prevents the sound (probably) from being too annnoying - cuts in on the sounds of the celebrations outside.

Promptly, almost as if on cue, the revelling halts; the People outside slowly mill around, apparently moving out to the edges of the Parade again.

The VisiWall zooms in on the far distant visible end of the Parade; a lone woman, with cheering crowds on either side of the 'road', marches with purpose towards the Palace. She wears a long, ceremonial blade, kept inside an ornately jewelled scabbard worn on a leather belt tightly wrapped around a gold-and-green robe emblazened on each shoulder with the bright blue-and-white of the Three Star Sigil.

Below, close to the Palace, Rialla and Semir-randil silently stand. Equally silently, their hands meet, and fingers mingle - and gently grasp.

A pleased-sounding sigh can be heard running through the 'audience' - although it might be a chorus of 'awwws' (it's hard to tell when so many people are making the same noise at the same time).

The woman with the sword and the bright robe - Bao Ling - marches the long march down the Parade towards the couple.

Nathicana watches quietly from her position in the room, not drawing attention to herself, preferring a bit of solitude for the moment. Though remaining aware of her surroundings, she observes the VisiWall intently, one brow arching up as Bao Ling makes her way through the crowd.

Never met, but from all reports a rather ... formidable woman, she observes. Il dio, I hope that sword is only for show.

It doesn't take long for Bao Ling to arrive; and long before she does, those viewing from the Palace might note that Si Ling has vanished without trace.

Bao Ling halts precisely three metres ahead of Rialla, and both bow to each other; a hush falls over the gathered.

Si Ling appears. He doesn't walk out from shadow; he doesn't maneuver carefully from out of sight. He appears, from thin air; he had been Drawing the Shadows - probably a part of the ceremony.

"And so shall it begin," he reads from the book in his hand solemnly, "that all who witness shall pronounce this noblest of ceremonies open and commenced; and at it's cessation, they shall celebrate the nobility of those whom we are gathered to Join."

The booming voice of Si Ling is clearly amplified; pride acts as a shiver in his tone, and Bao Ling smiles the merest of tiny smiles, hidden beneath a veneer of stoic lack of expression.

Si Ling closes the book; a servant rushes from nowhere, takes the book, and departs.

A hum rises from the crowd; the words aren't clear, but it is fairly obvious that this is the pronunciation of the beginning of the Joining. Si Ling speaks-

"It has long been our custom and tradition that the father of the daughter and the mother of the son compete with their opposites children in swordfare - yet this is sadly not possible.

"And yet-"

"Tradition is tradition, but it is the meaning that counts truly," intones Bao, smiling slightly at her daughter, "and if you, Rialla Simao ux-Rihad, desire and love this Nenyan, you shall defeat my blade for his hand."

"And you, Semir-randil nos Ahyanë, if you desire and love my daughter, you shall defeat my blade for her hand," Si Ling informs Semir-randil solemnly.

A servant carrying a cushion, plush and with vibrantly golden upholstery with a long jewelled scabbard of a thin yet long, flat-looking sword with softly blue glinting blade barely visible - and jewel-filled hilt shimmering in the afternoon rays of Sunlight - halts before Semir, and kneels, offering the cushion and its carried contents upwards. "My King," he murmours with deep respect clearly carried on his gentle tone.

Semir-randil draws the sword with a bright blue flash, and holds it aloft for all to see, proclaiming, "Náralcarëlma!"

Si Ling smiles faintly as he and Bao slip their swords from sheathes and assume fighting postures; Rialla does not unsheathe her sword or move; she remains utterly still.

"You honour me, old friend," Si Ling informs Semir warily...

Renate nods at Cavile's compliment, not seeming to find him aesthetically displeasing at all. As the Visiwall zooms, she leans in slightly closer and pitches her voice for Cavile's ears only, eyes twinkling.





"That would have been a real coup, Prince." A respectful smile. "But I was fortunate - the pain was the price I paid and I kept paying. You did give me joy though." A pause. "This is odd, you are nothing like I came to expect from intelligence. Far more like my gut reaction. I would very much like to speak more with you, later."

"Certamente non... non possono possibilmente significare ..." she murmurs softly, watching the scene with growing alarm.

Surely they don't mean to take the thrones in blood. She wracked her brains, trying to remember what she had and had not heard of succession ... and failed to come up with an answer for this. Barbaric! Of course, succession in the Dominion is the same, but not between parent and child ... not in recent history, at least.

Nathicana watched, her eyes sharp, focused on the four figures, and wondering why on earth Rialla was not moving to defend herself. I'm quite certain the lady loves him. Though they tried to hide it, it was amply apparent at D'ron's wedding. Is she thinking of breaking tradition? Or is there another way?

Her brow furrowed, she kept her ears tuned for any approach, not wanting to take here eyes off the Imperial family.

D'ron blinked as the swords were drawn, hand moving automatically to his gun.

Which wasn't there, of course. His pistols were still onboard the Forbibben Honor.

His hand, out of habit, then went to his sword, but managed to stop himself. One, this was their tradition, and two, he was much to far away to interfere without his pistols.

Lesley smiled as she saw D'ron go for the weapons he could not use, and sensed his confusion. She needed have been an empath to sense that, as it was evident on his face. As he began to relax again, she put her arm around his shoulders. "As it is, so it must be," she said softly. D'ron nodded.

Jessica was, of course, staring with rapt fascination at the scene before her. So exotic, so different. So exciting. She could hardly wait to see what happened next.

Cortana was confused. The Nenyans were going to do battle with each other over love? D'ron had slit open his hand during his wedding, but that had been for the extension of his sword's protection, a protection bound in blood.

But this.... this was something different. She watched in a fascination matching Jessica's, but for a slightly different reason. She had met Bao Ling and Semir-randil, but not the other two.

It seemed unlikely this would be a true duel.

But part of Cortana monitored the room, listening carefully to everything around her, not meaning to overhear anything, but finding it difficult not to, for even the lightest whisper would sound like an explosion in the silence that had fallen.

Rialla indicates, with the smallest downward motion of her eyes, her respect to Bao-

And then they stand.

All four simply stand, facing each other. The seconds tick by, and none of them waiver-

-and then Si Ling's blade flashes brightly in the brightness of the daylight, and the two men are almost immediately whirling through a complex and dizzying array of strikes and counter-strikes; defensive posture is meaningless, as neither blade ever quite manages to outwit the motion of its target - either they are deliberately missing their marks...

Or they're just that good.

It's incredibly hard to tell - especially considering the rarity with which the onlookers actually get to glimpse the blades; they are only truly sighted beyond the flashing glints reflecting the Sun for brief instants as the blades catch and scrape - momentarily, as the contact is always brief, always controlled - against their opponents blade.

Bao executes a gentle hop forwards, slashing her blade down and across, it's tip elegantly seeking a hip-

Time appears sluggish for many of the onlookers, for Rialla simply doesn't move.

-the blade slashes to within a hair's length of flesh, and Rialla just isn't there. Somehow, Bao Ling finds herself on her back, with Rialla's just-drawn sword wavering at her mother's throat.

Keen-eyed observers might have noted the sheer speed with which Rialla moved; the grace of her right shoulder dropping downwards, her hips swishing to the left, and her right leg sweeping Bao's feet from under her in a single smooth motion. They might note the momentary instant of shock and alarm that stirs in Bao's eyes; they might note the cool, calm, hawk-like hooded gaze that Rialla was bestowing on her opponent until her face morphed into a smiling visage of amusement-

"Yield," Rialla states softly, with an amused smile.

Bob Pratt slides his left hand into his suit jacket, glancing at his watch on the other, watching the duel with some interest. In his mind he is keeping note of everything, and so far he is neither surprised, shocked, nor excited. As such functions went, this was more entertaining than most, but he found himself feeling disgust with the decadent so-called nobles and their games. He tries to imagine dealing with these people on a regular basis, and its almost like the idea of going down to the street level and hanging out with the maskers. Interesting perhaps, as long as you cleaned yourself thoroughly afterward...

He isn't sure if smoking is allowed in this city and hadn't bothered to inquire. On the basis that it wasn't in Santa Barbara, he decided not to risk the extra attention.

The two men are still fighting, putting on a dazzling performance.

He makes a little show of searching his pockets and then catches the eye of one of the IIA men. Silently, deftly, he raises his right hand with incredibly precision. The internal intelligence agent shows a subtle confusion for a moment, and then, like dropping the hammer, Bob Pratt rubs four fingers of his hand with his thumb, in a sifting motion.

The IIA man-- young, with alert reflexes and thought, which show in his next move-- draws a small packet of Goletan Plain chewing tobacco from his inner suit pockets, a flash of nondescript pale paper and, in a blur of motion, tosses it to Bob-

-who catches it adeptly, his manicured fingernails clasping around like a vice, and with his other hand (which was now out of his coat again), tears the soft material apart, revealing the tasty odors of the quality tobacco inside. He grabs a clump of slightly damp, sticky plant substance and pops it into his mouth, chewing and enjoying the fresh taste.

Then he returns to watching the sport, idly wondering how he could market this kind of thing back home and profit the most from it.

Eyes flicker back and forth, trying to follow the movements. Breath catches at the beauty and fluidity of motion. Pulse quickens with the expectation of bloodshed.

Her skin prickling, Nathicana watches the display of prowess, feeling a rush of pleasurable anticipation flow through her. Duels of this sort had always stirred her blood, and this one was far beyond the others she'd witnessed and participated in.

Boosted reflexes work to keep up with the action, but her all too mundane eyes seem to blur it somewhat, not able to transfer the imagery fast enough. She curses quietly again her decision to forego the additional augments, not for the last time.

Still, though slight blur it be, she sucks in her breath sharply as Bao Ling makes her move, and Rially effortlessly avoids and counters.

Sweet Jesu ... mama wasn't expecting that, she thinks with a quiet chuckle, her eyes glittering with excitement. The exchanged looks, the alarm ... "Rifiniscalo," she breathes softly, her pulse racing faster ... til she realizes there will be no bloodshed here. No final ending.

Nathicana feels oddly ... disappointed. And relieved. And this being the case, she quickly focuses back on the dueling men, looking to see if the outcome will be similar.

Cavile nodded faintly at Renate;

"I would also welcome a furthur meeting."

Then, his eyes were drawn to the scene below, as Bao Ling moved through the crowd. The faintest ghost of a smile flickered across his face, as the challenges were uttered. He had seen many similar ceremonies before, although never in a society possessing such a high level of technology.

Fascinating. Despite the ascendence of the mind over the body in importance which normally occurs when machines begin to assume the physical tasks which made strength important, mastery of the sword is still important to these people.

He watched the ensuing duels carefully, appraising both the technique and the passion with which the four warriors fought. While most of those around him saw merely a blur, the Prince al Pulcherise's keen eyes could pick out each tensing muscle, and every rolling finger, as they steered the blades through their complex dance. As Rialla moved forward, his eyes widened slightly;

Impressive. I was not aware that these elf-creatures could move with such speed. She might even be a match for some of my own people, although I sense that her strength might not match her speed, and the technique of her husband is somewhat weak, although it is admittedly well above average for a young-kingdomer. Maybe that disgusting little Doctor's suggestions that our two races might be related have some basis in truth, although none of his reports suggested that the elven physique could allow such speed.

He noted the shock evident upon Bao Ling's face, and chuckled softly;

A firm nod.



Then she watches the swordfight, intently. Renate von Saucken actually likes what she's seen of the Nenyans, especially as she's had the opportunity to converse with Rialla. Based on that conversation, it's no surprise when Bao is brought down by effective positioning more than raw speed.



She refocuses her attention to the men, whom she's so far only been watching with machine components. Again the professional evaluation, and since she doesn't have to clamp down on reflexive lust out of respect for Nenyan sexual mores it is a superior evaluation.



Which is just as well.

The combat between Si Ling and Semir-randil transfixes the crowds gathered at either side of the Parade; not a whisper can be heard - only the dull and measured occasional chink of sword meeting sword. And the sound (amplified so as to be audible inside the Viewing Room) is surprisingly repetitive; there is very little variation in tone, suggesting extreme precision with the strokes of the blades. Neither one allows contact between the blades for long - why should they? - instead moving rapidly into their next attempt to breach the defenses of the other... often at the same time. The blades do not meet often; the swordplay is clearly geared more towards not being wherever the opponents blade is, rather than wasting valuable time and effort using their swords to parry.

And neither combatant gives ground; they both maintain generally the same position - fighting within their own imaginary spheres.

Semir-randil is, to the trained eye, clearly the better swordsman. His motion has more grace, more style - and he evades with greater speed, needing to use his blade to parry far less often than Si Ling. To the untrained eye, the movements are largely a blur-

-and quite suddenly, the blurring becomes far, far more intense. A whirlwind of colour, sprinkled forth mostly from the gaudy and oft-slit garments that Si Ling wears, replaces the previous spectacle - only the Whispering Voices delegate, Frank, can see that no shift in pace has actually occurred.

To other eyes, the combat is obscenely fast. Too fast to observe - even for those who are augmented.

It isn't any faster in reality, however; this is The Blurring, the Nenyan art of making those around them believe that their hands, feet, or (in the case of the exceptionally gifted) their entire body is in more than one place at once - creating the illusion of speed.

All-too-quickly, the combat returns to the previous pace - and both Si Ling and Semir wear grins; both are quite clearly enjoying themselves.

Rialla and Bao Ling stand off to one side, watching silently-

[OOC: Seeing as there haven't been any posts in this thread for a few days, I'm presuming y'all got tired of it and wandered off... so I'll consider this concluded.]

[OOC: Semir, just finish the damn fight, and we'll post some more. But stop breaking it every third paragraph. There's only so much we can say about a fight.]

Frank stands as he watches the fight, impressed by their speed and grace even without being able to see the additional Nenyan fighting tricks. Although never having done more than cursory military training with the blade, he can appreciate their skill - especially their tactic of moving to avoid blows, rather than parrying.

Very Daisho, he thinks. The question is, of course, is this all fixed - like some giant wrestling match? One would hope not ...


OOC:
Apologies for tardy posting, but been doing extensive computer maintenance over past few days.

As Bao-Ling fell, Cavile turned his gaze upon the other combat;

Slower, and the technique is rather formal. There is no danger, no intent to kill. How tedious!

He sniffed dismissively, and began to turn away in boredom. Then, Si Ling began to blur, and he looked back, a faint grin spreading on his face;

Where did they learn that? I never even suspected that the Young-Kingdomers had discovered that old trick!

Their swords mingled more often as time grew longer; Semir-randil slowly appeared to gain the upper hand, and, quick as a flash, a thin red streak appears on Si Ling's arm...

...he tumbles back, rolling as he falls; yet he is sluggish in comparison to the lightning-fast Semir-randil.

The blade trembles against the throat of the former Emperor.

Quietly, with a grin and no lack of breath - Si Ling holds his, but looks quite puffed - Semir questions, "Yield?"

Interesting, Bob thinks. But a good thing we have no such traditions of our own when it comes to sex. Everyone would be too busy fighting to be productive.

Suddenly a message disturbs him, his personal data assistant vibrating oh-so-subtly in his pocket. Unintrusively he removes it, glances at the read-out-- ah, it's Sonya over at the Damocles council. She's bored.

Shaking his head internally, he messages her back, stating, not very truthfully now, that he is bored too. He also makes sure to remind her to get that thing moving-- Damocles might be obsolete by the time it finally gets through damn government bureacracy, thinks he cynically.

The new Empress' father seems to have lost. He slips his PDA back into his pocket, and watches the conclusion. The blood seems to have piqued his curiosity.

Semir withdraws his sword and salutes Si Ling; Bao does the same with Rialla, and the former Imperial leaders of the Empire then lay their swords at the feet of the new leaders.

Softly, proudly, both speak together with practised ease;

"State your past."

Again, with the same practiced ease - and perhaps empathic contact - Semir-randil and Rialla ux-Rihad state in bold and booming yet gentle tone in alternated fashion;

[OOC: NOTE: Semir is speaking in italics - Rialla in bold. Done this way for brevity.]

IC:

O peaceful smile
O joy of mine
O wonderous trial
Ended at last
No waiting awaits, the wait before past
No fearful sleepless nights, nor spreading of the bile
Those lies, in which a fate to hide
A shadow that wasshrouding the candle
In murk and gloom.

O peaceful sorrow
In futures lost
And now my future's found;
The future a fountain of dreams;
A heart dwelling in musical sound...

A melody unchained, in glorious surround.

Rialla and Semir smilingly gaze at one another; gently, Bao Ling, mother of the bride and traditionally the concluder of the ceremony, softly intones (audible thanks to amplification inside the Viewing Room and speakers strategically placed at key viewing points throughout the Empire), "And your future?"

"Together," groom and bride pronounce.

"And eternity?"

"As we are, so we shall be for ever," Semir-randil states solemnly.

"For our hearts are one-," Rialla begins.

"-and our spirits sing the same song," Semir concludes.

"As you say, so you are. May your paths take you wherever they lead, Empress Rialla ux-Rihad II and the High King of Nenya First Minister Semir-randil I."

A pulse of gentle, caressing emotion wafts through the city; the Nenyans drive it yet again, and in the minds of the more impressionable, words form...

...you may kiss, our Empress and High King... our blessing upon your union, for all the years of your eternal lives...

And Semir and Rialla do indeed kiss, gently, arms drawn around the other each; bodies snug and unashamedly close...