Carried on a Steel Wind (Invite Only)

[The Order of Takhisis]

0730, Entering Tagmatine Aerospace
Takhisian Imperial Navy Dreadnought Leviathan

She appeared, knifing through a cover of clouds, with the bow splashing them apart as if it were water of the high seas. The vessel massive beyond measure, undoubtedly the largest flying aerocraft to be seen in these peaceful skies. Turbines spun the many shafts leading to eight bladed propellers. The Leviathan crested just over one-hundred-eighty-six meters in length, and a beam of seventy plus meters. As the massive airship began to descend from it's service ceiling of eleven-thousand meters, it's features could start to be discerned to the naked eye.

The top of the vessel being dominated by twin conning towers, that were more or less mirrored by stubbier versions on the underside of the vessel. It also bore the look of something not entirely of this world, as it was not just simply an airship, but a dreadnaught of the skies. Visibly present were the eight 6 × 28 cm (11 in) guns on four turrets, with two turrets at the aft bearing the same cannon type. Littering the Yoweth ith class are thirty-two 20mm phalanx turrets, surrounding both the launch deck, and conning towers of top and bottom. The broadside weapons on the ship are ten 8 × 15 cm (5.9 in) cannons evenly divided between the left and right broadsides. Littering about on the dorsal and spinal areas of the vessel were the dual box launcher turrets, capable of firing air to air intercept missiles as well as air to ground anti-armor and or emplacements.

Most impressively on either flank of the vessel, at it's meatiest at least, were large emblazoned emblems of the Takhisian Imperial Knights, specifically regarding those of the Lily. It was a white flower atop twin blades, one facing up, and the other facing down. Wreathed in a slightly faded five headed dragon muted to be seen but not overwhelm the images atop it. Rising above the central mass of the warship, and extending above the bridge is a high mast which has both a listening post with numerous sounding horns as well as a lookout post. Attached to flutter in the wind was a flag bearing the image of the Takhisian Order and the Empire.

As she steamed towards her destination, two other versions also became apparent. They were much smaller, but still formidable and occupied a role akin to that of destroyers. While the Leviathan was of a burnt silver-platinum, these were a muted rust-burgundy with grey outlining. A smaller buzzing sound, and push prop fighters shot past those casual land based observers, streaking their silvered hides to gleam in the rising dawn's light. These were the defenders and interceptors held by the airships, and more could be deployed, but two was enough for what they were doing.

The radar signature alone would be sending spasms into the Tagmatine responders and it wasn't long before the communication officer was standing behind two pairs of enlisted sailors, proffering a sheet of teletype paper. While the airship looked as if it was some sort of archaic beast, they did have a merging of technologies for some things. The message was a polite greeting and of course notification of their arrival and that diplomatic personnel and entourage should number no more then five and so on.

The communication officer by name of Tyrel had a thin slice of hair atop his head, silvering as his age was much higher then many on the Leviathan. He was nearly fifty years of age and had a weathered face of which his green eyes peered forth out of. His uniform was like the other officers as it consisted of having closed lapels with the top open and gold edged lapels. The jacket having a long skirted coat, without a turnback. The uniform itself was a light blue and went with the colours of the lapels and so forth quite well.

He approached the raised command section of the bridge, passing several of the senior bridge officers to directly approach the Leviathan's Lord of Host, Duke of the North, Syious De'Wyren. My Duke, communications has sent the diplomatic message as requested. Syious had a hard look to him, he was just over one point eight meters in height, just a few centimeters taller then Tyrel actually. While younger then the communication officer, he was no less weathered, possessing an angular face of a Nordic like people.

Closely cropped grey hair lay atop his scalp, a tattoo lay across right temple in a series of lines with runic glyphs in what could only be a mentioning of something important. His uniform mirrored that of Tyrel's save it was white in hue. Very good Tyrel, inform the pilots to return to their berths and.. He glanced over towards the navigation officer, a woman named Estralita. Estralita, do bring us to hovering at proper height.

The woman in question was roughly the same height as her Duke, of which was pretty much an average overall. She was a brunette, hair cut to her shoulders and currently mostly under her officers cap. She nodded and began directing the team of six pilots needed to maneuver the Leviathan. Hover proper meant twenty-six meters above the ground, so essentially just above one's head. There was a subtle shift in the deck plates as the Leviathan and her escorts began the maneuver, of which her pilots were returning as this was going on.

As each Dhac fighter nuzzled up to the exposed grab hangers, which essentially secured the plane from about the nose and just before the engine so as not to snap the blades. One by one they were brought aboard, clanking gears upon the air as each was drawn aboard while the airship began to draw closer and closer to the ground. Tree's and the very earth would feel the reverberations of the many propeller's washes and the shadow cast by the Leviathan alone would and was probably cause for some alarm as it crested over land and homes alike.

[Tagmatium]

The morning shift at Tagmatika International Airport had just taken over from the night shift. Basil Tzinankos, the air traffic controller in charge of watching the further approaches to the airspace around Tagmatika, yawned and stretched at his console. He reached up with one hand and itched at his shaven chin before settling his headset more comfortably. His other hand reached out and grabbed and his cup of coffee. He took a sip and thought about the briefing his team had received before they’d taken over from the night shift. The main topic was that some barbaroi delegation from one of the Greater Holy Empire’s new allies were visiting in order to pick up some diplomats before progressing to their own nation. Using airships, of all things. A bit of a laugh had rippled through the meeting room when that was mentioned, everyone picturing ancient lighter-than-air ships that had been discarded by most civilised nations decades ago.

They were supposed to turn up at 07:30 and most of the air traffic controllers were keeping an eye on their screens for when these backward savages did arrive. Most people wanted to be the first to spot them. However, Basil knew that he would be the first to do so, due to the area of airspace that he monitored. A blip appeared from the direction he had been told the airships would and he kept an eye on it whilst taking another sip from his cup. It then kept getting larger and larger. The radar return was massive. In a moment of incomprehension, Basil scrubbed at the screen in front of him with the cuff of his shirt. When the large smudge didn’t disappear but resolved itself further and formed itself into three distinct masses, further surrounded by smaller returns, he sat back and ran a hand through his thinning hair. He had been told of the Takhisian airships and had been waiting their arrival, but the presence on his screen told him a lot about their sheer magnitude. How could such monsters stay in the air? Lighter-than-air travel had died in the Greater Holy Empire in the 1940s, when aeroplanes had proved that they were much more useful and, if nothing else, harder to hit than slowly-moving bags of hydrogen. Tzinankos sat agape at his terminal for a few moments before he realised what he was supposed to be doing and flagged down his supervisor.

“Hey, Paul. The barbaroi airships have arrived in our airspace.”

The terse sentence didn’t really encapsulate the action that it kicked started. The supervisor, a chubby man in a sweat-stained blue shirt, walked over and looked over Tzinankos’ shoulder. Like him, the supervisor’s mouth dropped open for a moment at the picture on the screens. He then waddled over to his desk and grabbed at his telephone, rapidly bashing in a number and reporting to his superiors that the Takhisian delegation were here. The air traffic supervisor was told to sit tight and monitor their progress over the Tagmatine capital. The Imperial Government were aware of their progress and, indeed, had been monitoring it before the civil aviation authorities had been aware of the airships’ arrival.

The supervisor mopped his brow with a handkerchief after he put down the telephone.

“We’re to keep an eye on them as they come in,” he said. “The high-ups know they’re here already and the Logothesion of Aviation has supplied the information to all of the carriers in the area.”

Tzinankos nodded and turned back to his radar screen. The airships were making themselves more clear on the screen and he was still astounded at the size of them. They undoubtedly could be seen across the Tagmatine capital and from the coast from quite a long way off. Their arrival would undoubtedly cause comment for weeks, if not months, to come.

---

A squadron of Ierakas fighters were scrambled from a military base near the Tagmatine capital. They weren’t the slow, lumbering and aged Aetoi that the Holy Imperial Air Force usually deployed. These beasts, like the falcons they were named after, were agile, light and hard-hitting. They flew in formation, to act as an aerial honour guard for the incoming airships and their attendant craft, rather than as a statement of mistrust towards the intentions of the new arrivals. Not that the size of the armament that the airships carried didn’t have some within the Imperial Government worried.

The airships themselves were slower that the swift fighters, who were forced to slow down to maintain the formation. The behemoths themselves were guided by air traffic control in towards a rendezvous point above the bay that the Tagmatine capital sat astride. Here, they would meet up with the helicopter carrying the diplomatic representatives from the Imperial Government. Crowds were gathering in the streets of Tagmatika to gaze at the huge vessels. Undoubtedly, this would be causing some problems for Tagmatine traffic officers, who would then have to sort out any gridlock or accidents that might occur.

---

The heavy transport helicopter that made its way towards the airships was almost instantly recognisable. It was painted in a blue-grey with a black boarded red strip running around its body. A large representation of the Tagmatine flag emblazoned its hull, which made it clear to all who saw it as a helicopter utilised by the Imperial Government. The helicopter itself was, as it transpired, over-large for the small diplomatic staff that it carried. The lead member of the diplomatic staff was Logothetes of Wider World Affairs, Konstantian Makarios. Along with him rode Logothetes of War Staurakios Zoilos, a man whose ailing career made his selection something of a puzzlement to Makarios, as well as a representative of the Iconoclastic Church, a pair of notaries and a clutch of body guards from the Exkoubitoi.

Makarios himself sat against one of the sides of the helicopter, looking somewhat sullen in his smart business suit. One hand clutched the headphones he was wearing against the battering of the helicopter’s rotor blades whilst the other was gripped around his seatbelt. He wasn’t a fan of helicopters – they had always struck him as the most fragile of heavier-than-air aircraft. Just his luck that he was being conveyed in one towards an airship. Part of the way the Greater Holy Empire was run meant that it encouraged rivalry in its ministerial staff, and his personal rival had seen fit to send him emails containing images of airship disasters. She’d claimed that she was helping to educate him in the event that the worst might happen, but he knew that it was nothing more than a petty attempt to unnerve him. Even though he knew it, Makarios didn’t really wish to set foot on any floating gasbags, potentially full of hydrogen and just itching to explode.

“They look magnificent, don’t they, Logothetes Makarios?” said Zoilos, talking about the Takhisian air-fleet hanging above the bay. The man was craning his neck to look through the open door of the cockpit, over the pilots’ shoulders towards their destination. It was if he’d taken his last trip in a similar helicopter entirely in his stride.

Fuck off, thought the Logothetes of Wider World Affairs.

“They certainly dwarf our own aircraft, Logothetes Zoilos,” was what he actually said.

Makarios did, however, look down the central passageway towards the behemoths hanging seemingly virtually motionless in the sky. They did look magnificent, even though Makarios loathed to admit it. They might be floating death-traps, but they demanded attention. It was almost unforgivable that such barbaroi could be able to produce such monumental works that the Greater Holy Empire couldn’t, but he was reminded of the technological differences as he caught sight of one of the Tagmatine honour guard fighters. The Takhisians seemed to do things differently. Makarios, as befitting, had read as much as he could about them when he’d been given this assignment and he still couldn’t quite reconcile some of the reports he had read in his own mind. The pictures of their armoured fighting vehicles and their aircraft… Well, they were entirely outdated. The tanks would have been cannon fodder for those used by the Greater Holy Empire by the end of the Long War, over sixty years ago, let alone these days. He wasn’t, admittedly, a soldier but a diplomat, but the pictures Makarios had seen had made him draw these conclusions.

He wasn’t expecting much in the way of technology or comforts when the helicopter touched down on the landing pad of the Dreadnought Leviathan. The small Exkoubitoi group filed down onto the deck first, dressed in mirror-shined black lacquered plate and lamellar mail and stern-faced sallet helms. They had swords at their hips, but no firearms. Oaths decreed that they would not give up their swords. Makarios walked between them and had a moment of vertigo as he looked over the first soldier’s shoulder across a scene he had usually seen, but now from several hundred feet above where he was used to seeing it. The feeling passed quickly, however and Logothetes Makarios stood on the landing pad of the dreadnought, awaiting the arrival of the Takhisian welcoming party.

[The Order of Takhisis]

Welcome Aboard

Waiting to greet the helicopter and it's entourage deboarding was that of the Executive Officer, Frel Daist. A clean shaven and good looking man, with an aristocratic face and fine blue eyes. He seemed around forty or so with greying hair, but retained the vigour of a younger man. He appeared self-possessed and decided and was popular amongst those crew under his command because of his care for their concerns. Business was handled with short orders and short replies, so that despite an absence of military formalities everything was done professionally.

He wore as the senior officers wore, a white uniform with a black sash across the chest connected to a black belt. Both hands were gloved, and he offered a salute with the left hand, palm lightly turned upwards, with index finger barely cresting against left temple. Just behind him, four sailors in the customary dark blue snapped their heels together with a resounding clicking sound, mirroring the salute. After a moment Frel retracted his arm to a more comfortable position, though there was a bit of worry about the helicopter and his face showed it a moment.

He leaned in a bit, and his slightly southern hinterlands accent had a bit of a twinge to it. Honored Sirs, it would be best if your aerocraft arose soon. So close to the magnetic coils, it could be quite dangerous for it to remain to long. Even the static electricity could be felt at this point, as a rolling sensation uponst ones skin under the clothing. Frel leaned back a bit and awaited the response of the delegations before proceeding with his role of being guide to the ship.

Please if you will follow me, I will lead you to the bridge to meet our Lord, however first we'll make a stop at what will be your quarters for the duration of the trip. He took a step backwards and the sailors parted to form a passage as a hefty hatch opened to allow a vision of the metal girder decking and the bulkhead lined maw like passage that led further into the ship, like open maw into the belly of a beast no less.

Once within, the hatch would close though the sailors would bring up the rear. Frel would lead the way down the passage, making sure the way was clear, and then down several ladders, in order to go down two levels to the crew and stateroom areas. The diplomats, the priest, and their guard would have two staterooms. Each room holds four beds, and a washing area. Bathrooms are further down, and clearly marked.

Frel instinctively felt the subtle motion in the deck, as the airship was beginning it's pivot. The motion took some time as the bulky vessel began the act of reversing it's position, setting navigation for another destination and another diplomatic pick-up site. There was a hefty vibration for a moment as the engines were throttled a bit more then normal, this meant that the hovering was disengaging and momentum was being managed as the engines were producing propulsion for movement.

The unsteady reverberations throughout the airship dreadnought had already ceased as the engine output had shifted to full speed ahead. The ride was becoming noticeably more smooth and refined, such was the life aboard such vessels as this and the Takhisians had a good many of them to get it right. The Executive Officer nodded at those coming with and then proceeded to the right, and then the left, pausing at the bulkhead hatch. This way honored sirs

Sailors stepped backwards, making an opening for the passage of the guests and the lead officer. There were several junior officers in light blue. Senior officers weren't noticeable until they'd gone up at least three ladders and then to a squat looking service elevator that was quite large once within. It fit the entire party. This will make it easier, and it will put us on the command and control level.

He nodded to the nearby sailor who pulled a lever to the right and two doors closed. There was a thunk, then a ka-thunk sound as the gears began to clunk along and hoisted the elevator up. Through the thin shafts of light shining through, three decks went by before the light turned a brilliant blue shade as they were passing to the left of the massive magnetic-ragnite reactor.

For some the walls might seem like they were closing in, as the magnetic field took some time getting used to, and then it was gone as four more decks slid by until the box came to rest on it's destination. The twin doors opened, one going up, the other going low. A brief moment in a corridor, and then the command and control of the main mast conning tower.'

The Bridge

The Command and Control of the airship Leviathan however was unlike anything the Tagmatine's had probably been in before. There was a low bridge that housed light up map tables, with computer aided images of terrain and so forth. Navigation was on a raised platform section overlooking this lower area, and above that was the observation, communication section, and above that on a fourth tier platform was the command deck, where the Lord of the Leviathan resided.

Frel led the way to another lift, this one had a simple set of bars as a railing and the electric motor hummed to life as he clenched the lift stick. When it came to the command deck, he exited first and held the safety door for the guests. They'd be to the right and facing the..well throne of the vessel's commander and the sunken command stations of the other senior officers. He saluted, but not towards them, but another individual, this one stepping down from the throne, attire mirroring that of the Executive Officer.

Frel turned to the dignitaries gathered, as well as their bodyguards. Leviathan's Lord of Host and Commanding Officer, Duke of the North, Syious De'Wyren. He turned to the now named Duke. My Duke, Logothetes Zoilos and the Molaghos-Kentarkhes of The Greater Holy Empire of Tagmatium. Syious was just as tall as his second in command, though he bore an almost grey-ish blue hair that was thinly cropped atop head. His eyes were of grey, and he was faintly tanned with a weathered look. His age apparent was early forties and it was evident he was career military, though obviously of an aristocratic nature concerning his title as well. Where as his officers saluted, he offered a slight bow of head. Welcome guests, to my command, the Leviathan.

He paused a moment before continuing. By now you have noticed we already leaving the aerospace of your native land. At maximum thrust, we are cresting two-hundred-eighty-seven kilometers per hour and are proceeding to the next dignitary pickup. He slid his hands behind back, a well practiced and comfortable position. Our next stop will be the lands of the Azuran's. Have you ever been to that land, I find myself woefully under educated about it's people and culture.

Oh and one more thing. He paused again. While you are guests, and esteemed ones at that, there is only one area I would ask that you not investigate while you are aboard. Please do not pursue investigation of our engineering section. All other areas are free to you however. Perhaps caution on the Takhisian part, or perhaps they just wished to keep the secret of their ways, theirs and theirs alone.

[Tagmatium]

The Takhisians were smartly dressed, overly militaristic in their clothes, as all barbarians seemed to be. Makarios then remembered that this was, in fact, a military vessel and so the uniforms weren’t out of place. Still, he looked down on them as inferior to the uniforms of the Greater Holy Empire.

The four soldiers of the Exkoubitoi fell in behind the diplomatic staff as they walked towards the welcoming party, casting glances about them, making sure that nothing untoward awaited their charges. Diplomatic missions from the Greater Holy Empire weren't usually so wary, but the overwhelming military force that the Takhisians had in the skies made Tagmatium nervous. These soldiers were doubly wary since they’d been reduced to their ceremonial weapons. The welcoming party snapped their heels together and the lead officer, a youngish man with greying hair gave a salute as they did so. The Tagmatine diplomats offered a half-bow in return whilst the four bodyguards snapped their heels together and stood to attention.

The leader of the Takhisian welcoming committee leaned towards Makarios, a look of concern on his face. The expression perturbed the Logothetes, as it probably wouldn’t bode well.

“Honored sirs, it would be best if your aerocraft arose soon. So close to the magnetic coils, it could be dangerous for it to remain for too long.”

And the expression certainly didn’t mean anything good. Makarios pulled a face at the news. Presumably, the magnetic field could screw up the helicopter’s electronics, in a similar manner to an EMP weapon. If the magnetic field was that strong, then what could it be doing to those on board? He consoled himself with the idea that if the Takhisians were still functioning well after flying from God only knew where, then presumably it wouldn’t have a detrimental effect on the delegates. After all, only truly savage nations allowed harm to befall diplomats in their care. The Tagmatine’s slightly paranoid train of thought was broken when the officer spoke again.

“Please, if you would follow me, I would lead you to your staterooms.”

The Tagmatine delegation trooped in through the honour guard, following the officer. Makarios followed on behind, with Zoilos behind him, then the delegation’s notary and the priest, with the bodyguard taking the rear. Makarios would have felt a lot happier if some of the bodyguard were leading as well, but it wouldn’t do to infer that he didn’t trust the Greater Holy Empire’s ally. The Logothesion of Foreign Affairs' representative also would have thought that his counterpart from the Logothesion of War would have been a bit more worried, considering the fact that they were on an airship that had no obvious means of staying afloat. A look over his shoulder told him that Zoilos was looking around avidly, taking in the sights and sounds of the air battleship. The man caught the look and gave Makarios a grin.

“It’s a wonder, isn’t it, Logothetes? That such a thing could stay in the air…” To reinforce his point, he stamped a couple of times on the solid metal decking, causing a moment of consternation in Makarios.

I really fucking wish you wouldn’t do that, Makarios thought.

“Yes, indeed, it is a wonder,” he said through a forced smile. The Logothetes for War didn’t notice the faked enthusiasm, but continued to gawp like a tourist.

They were led down several ladders within the bowels of the airship, presumably to the accommodation areas of the vessel. The ladders didn’t exactly please Makarios, but they were much more economical with space than flights of stairs. He wondered whether the Takhisians had anything like a civilian version of these airships and wondered why they didn’t use them instead. Presumably they didn’t possess such things, or perhaps this was an exercise in overawing their allies. The behemoths seemed like they would shrug off conventional anti-aircraft weaponry, at least as far as Makarios could tell. He had never served in any of the Greater Holy Empire’s armed forces, but he knew that anti-aircraft measures were usually missile-based these days. The airships looked like they would need pounded from old-style naval guns, the kind seen on battleships from the Long War, before they would go down. At least that could be said in the monstrosity’s favour.

The officer led them down further and then stood outside a door. These were obviously the accommodation for the Tagmatine delegation.

“Each room holds four beds, and a washing area. Bathrooms are further down, and clearly marked. You are free to head to the main bridge or you may wait here until dinner is served. A sailor will inform you and your entourage, honoured sirs.”

The Logothetes of Wider World Affairs sniffed, showing his displeasure at the state of affairs. The dignity of the Greater Holy Empire demanded that each of the Logothetai were given separate staterooms, that this officer and his barbaroi compatriots did their utmost to serve their obvious superiors… Makarios was about to harangue the Takhisian officer, before he caught the glare of Zoilos. Taken aback by the expression of his ministerial colleague, Makarios gave the officer a quick half-bow and thanked him for showing the delegation to their rooms.

A sudden vibration shook the ship and Makarios felt a wave of nausea pass over him. Damn, but this mode of transport didn’t agree with him. Why the hell didn’t these heathens use aeroplanes, like normal people? The engines gave another shudder and he suppressed the urge to cling to the wall whilst the feeling of sickness passed. After all, he was representing his nation here. He swallowed, attempting to drive down the rising feeling in his stomach.

“We would be honoured if you would be so good as to show us to the main bridge.” For a moment, Makarios a childish surge of resentment towards Zoilos, who was obviously enjoying his time on this alien vessel, floating as it was in defiance of all Tagmatine technology. Disallowing him to come to the bridge would be a snub, towards both Zoilos and the Ministry of War. In the end, Makarios decided that it wasn’t worth being so petty. “That is, myself, Logothetes Zoilos and the Molaghos-Kentarkhes, the head of the bodyguard.”

---

The Bridge

The airship had at least stopped juddering and Makarios felt that slightly happier about travelling aboard it. Had it continued, then he had no idea what he would have done. In all honesty, the Tagmatine knew that he would have had to have borne it stoically. He would have hardly had increased his esteem within his Ministry by demanding that the airship was turned around to drop him back off. It would, basically, have been a very ignominious end to his career, completely beyond salvaging. Any hopes of succeeding the current Megas Logothetes would have been completely dashed.

The Takhisian officer seemed more than happy to show them the bridge. Zoilos would obviously adore seeing the workings of this barbaroi aircraft, but Makarios himself didn’t really care to. He supposed that seeing the officer in command would be considered the done thing, as the commanders of vessels would usually introduce themselves to important guests if it were a ship of the Greater Holy Empire, civilian or otherwise. The Tagmatine diplomat supposed that he was taking a proactive stance on this front. Undoubtedly, the command staff would have introduced themselves anyway.

“This way on, honoured sirs.”

The executive officer led the way, sailors stepping out of the way as the guests followed the naval officer towards the bridge. Walking around inside the vessel brought it made it obvious to the Tagmatine delegation as to how huge it was. It has been assumed that the internals would be taken up with helium cells (hydrogen, obviously, out of the question) but it wasn’t the case. It seemed to be more akin to an ordinary warship on the inside than what the Tagmatines knew of airships. Such things were virtually only known historically within the Greater Holy Empire. That they climbed up more ladders brought this home to the delegation more. Finally, there was a lift. Makarios was glad about this – sitting in an office and plotting and counter-plotting in the Ministry of Foreign Affairs didn’t allow much time for proper exercise.

“This will make it easier, and it will put us on the command and control level.”

Makarios gave a nod in agreement, although it was a superfluous gesture. The noise of the machinery was oddly comforting, distracting from the idea that they were thousands of metres up, floating in a machine that denied conventional science. The research and development branch of the Paramonai would love to get their hands on this technology... There was an odd feeling as they apparently passed the ship’s main engines, but that was quickly gone. The doors open and they were onto the main bridge.

I really, really don’t want to look out of the window.

The thought flashed rapidly through Makarios’ head. He stood for a moment as the other two of delegation filed past him. The head of the bodyguard stopped as soon as he noticed that one of his charges had stopped and he turned around, his helmet cocked to once side, quizzically, in a similar manner to a dog. It was an odd thought – Makarios had flown before and it really was no different than looking out of an aeroplane’s window. The logothetes shook his head and returned to the head of the Tagmatine delegation as they moved onto the bridge of the floating dreadnought. The first level of the bridge was… definitely interesting. The only real thing which marked it apart from any equivalents of the Greater Holy Empire was the fact that it was suspended in the air. They weren’t here to monitor the technical abilities of an ally. At least, not officially – notes would be taken, none the less. But diplomatic meetings were always an occasional to awe allies and friends, and the Takhisian airships were a sight to be seen. The bridge itself didn’t look much more different to a Tagmatine warship. The fact that it was thousands of meters up in the air was both an awe-inspiring and worrying thought for Logothetes Makarios.

The delegation was introduced to the airship’s captain and Makarios suppressed a snort of derision at the officer’s long list of titles. The Logothetes of Wider World Affairs of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs found the man’s exalted list of titles to be ridiculous, typical of barbarians, who liked to make themselves sound as impressive as possible with bombastic titles, as if they could hide their inferiority by mere words. Of course, Makarios didn’t express such opinions, but gave the traditional half-bow when he was introduced, as did Zoilos. The Molaghos-Kentarkhes came to attention. Makarios stepped forward, marking himself as the lead of the Tagmatine delegation.

“I thank you for welcoming us aboard your vessel, droungarios. It is a most interesting…” he struggled to find the word for a moment, “…ship. Few within the Greater Holy Empire have seen such as like it before. It speaks of the technological abilities of a nation such as that of yours to have such a great vessel aloft, when others have them supported by the waves of the sea, as opposed to those of the air.”

Makarios attempted to say the last sentence in the tongue of the host nation, and he knew that his delivery was haphazard, but it did to flatter foreign nations. The captain lauded the abilities of his own vessel, as military types seemed wont to do. Zoilos looked like he was drinking it in and Makarios privately rolled his eyes before attempting to assure the Takhisian that they weren’t there to steal military secrets.

“Of course, droungarios, we are all allies here. Me and my compatriots are not going to nose about where we do not belong.”

[The Order of Takhisis]

Diplomats, oh Diplomats

Syious nodded at the reply, though captain was not his rank, he was well aware of the Tagmatium issue revolving around nobility beyond their own borders. It was a small matter, and one that had been expected long ahead of their arrival. The use of the provisional tongue however had not been on that list. He nodded a bit at the rough translation, the effort was appreciated. Might have to learn a few proper bits of Tagmatine now. He tipped his head before commenting on the diplomat in question being so put out to learn their tongue while plucking a watch from his rightmost jacket pocket. The silver coated object gleamed a bit as the lid was flipped open. Ah, you may feel free to remain on the bridge or wander as you wish. Dinner I am told will be served at five o'clock.

Frel spoke up then. And we have quite the treat. Worg steaks, ribs, and several pastas. I do believe a salad and a soup as well. Our arrival was slightly delayed as we filled our stocks with delicacies for honored guests. Which of course had also primed every sailor aboard with big grins as the best food that could be had within the Order, was on the Leviathan. After his comment however, Frel was back to business, issuing an order to a pair of Ensigns manning a station to the immediate left and below about a meter or so. Signal Vanguard Escort, retrieve our recon aerocraft, and prepare for figure three flight.

Figure three wasn't really hard to figure out. Since there were only three vessels, it was a sort of triangle formation that allowed for easier dispersal of defensive armaments. Frel was already giving orders to the communication station as well. Send a message to the Azuran Ministry of Foreign Affairs, that we are on our way. A chorus of yessirs, and the bridge crew went to work. Engineering came through from their section. [/i]M'lord, we are approaching the safety margin of seventy-three percent of reactor usage.[/i]

Syious nodded, commenting as he did so. Very good, continue on course. An officer stepped forward, a headset around his head, with a thin datapad similar to the ever popular touch screen tablets that were taking over the civilian markets. We'll be in the Azuran aerospace within four hours. He of course wouldn't sit for the moment, like a hawk he patrolled the upper bridge, casting his gaze down upon the rest, and periodically back towards the Tagmatium delegation.

Several Hours Later

A junior officer with the emblem of the Legion of Ariakan, indeed all the sailors had it, arrived at the first of the staterooms and politely knocked. Two raps and then he took a few steps backwards, hands at his sides waiting for the diplomats and their entourage. Much like his status, he was young, probably eighteen or nineteen years of age, and he already had two medals of valor for combat duties that referred to the nature of ship to ship action. Once aforementioned diplomats were gathered, he'd take the lead. Offering some insight to the dreadnought as well.

Honored Sirs, I am Anar DeSoto, of the rank irral iejir, I am a junior officer of the Armaments. He offered a slight tip of head. I'm not very aware of how much you know about our ship.. He said as leading the way through the nearest corridor. She has three different wardrooms (places to eat), besides that of the Commander's private eatery. Of which he'd get into as leading the way towards the very large lift from before, that had been used to go to the bridge. The first one is the Enlisted Mess, it's located forward on the third deck and is where most of the aircrew tend to eat. Working uniforms are the norm; flight suits, deck jerseys and dirty uniforms are all acceptable to wear. You probably won't go there, or maybe you will, who knows.

A nod to the Ensign at the ready of the lift, waiting until the party was getting in all the way. The second is the Officer's Mess, a bit more refined and formal, no flight suits or dirty uniforms are allowed. This said as the doors were finally closed. The last of course is the High Command Eatery. This is where most of your dinners will be handled during our deployment as your travel hosts to the provisional territories. As the doors opened again on deck five, and he himself stepped forward. Eventually the path taken would lead into an area that saw very few enlisted sailors about. This was the officer's deck, where the command and control personnel lived their lives when on tours of duty.

A right, then a left, followed by another right to a hatch. A rap of knuckled and the hatch opened from the interior. Several of the senior officers, the ship's head medical officer, another who appeared to be the counterpart to religious needs that the Tagmatines brought with, and several others that served a variety of purposes. The table that greeted them was of red oak, and massive. It was made to seat the entirety of the entourage, as well as the officers staffed on the Leviathan. At it's head, was that of the Commander of the vessel, and to the right was that of the executive officer, and the medical officer on the left. The other side of the table, in the tail position mind you, was a spot ordained for the senior diplomat and then right or left for the ranks that followed.

The Chief of the ship, and his subordinates had already brought out the soups, the salads, the small appetizers and what not. Wine of a reddish hue had also been poured into cups, fresh caskets popped. The scent of cooking meat, roasting away lingered about the table as said subordinates also set down bowls filled with bread rolls. Syious extended his right arm in a polite gesture to the open seats, Gentlemen, if you would be seated, it would be our honor to dine with you.

Dinner Is Served

Gentlemen, guests of our government and the Empress, the meal presented to you, is considered by many, a traditional staple. There are however some delicacies mingled in with this, rarities of our homeland that only come out for large events. Please let us know what you think of such, after of course trying whatever it is you comment on of course. As if on cue, several sailors marched out of the kitchen holding a platter that was nearly three meters long. It was set upon a carving table, the roasted flesh quite apparent. It was essentially wolf like in form, nearly filling the platter and then some.

The height of the cooked creature reached nearly a meter itself the shoulder. It required several to lift the platter, as per said tray was solid silver with brass inlines. The Chief Cook took a stand to the right of the platter with a very large knife and a long plucking fork. Lord of Hosts, Honored guests, I present the cooking style of the Tyrelli, a river people of the Tyrell River township within the Takhisian provisional territories. This is a rather large beast, three hundred-thirty ought six in weight. Roasted to a fine medium burn, sauteed with lemons, garlic, and red wine sauce. He paused and then continued.

His accent was a bit different then Syious's, more guttural and rough hewn, but clear enough that what he was saying was coming across well enough. Like many senior officers, he spoke the common (English) tongue. Enlisted and the common citizenry were slowly adapting to this need, indeed it had become a secondary requirement in the education system not to long ago. So that the next generation of Takhisians could converse politely with allies such as the Tagmatines present today.

Accompanying this meal, is a flood of appetizers from the homeland. As such, and with permission of our Host, we have compiled several dishes, the most popular of the delicacies and will be bringing them out as a sort of sampler. I will give a brief description of each dish, for you our guests as well as our country-men alike. After of which I and a few others will task ourselves with making ready with the main dish, there is a bit of work to do still. So please, enjoy our taste of home until it is time. The Chief clapped his hands harshly and sailors in white uniforms appeared near immediately, each bearing a singular platter and cover of which was lifted as soon as it was set down uponst the massive table.

The first was placed before Makarios. Ah a fine treat, a much sought after dish from the Rock Landing Province. That would be xiiva sauriv. In the common tongue, it's Shark Eyes. The fatty, jelly like tissue around the eye is fried with garlic. Another dish was set down, this time before Zoilos. Exquisite. Hamir hoinpic or in the common, Spider legs. They are crispy on the outside and gooey in the middle, with the white delicate meat in the head and body tasting rather like a cross between poultry of a sort and cod for a taste reference.

Also, from the Spirits Tender, we have several bottles of vyklade trekis. That would be Snake's Breath for our guests. Several bottles were held by sailors attending to the table, while a few open ones were placed upon the table as well, alternatives to the red wine already present. vyklade trekis is an ancient drink for us. From our early days, to the modern nights. The wine is a actually a type of rice wine with a venomous snake inside. The snake is left to steep in the rice wine for many months to let the poison dissolve in the wine. The ethanol makes the venom inactive so it is not dangerous, and snake wine supposedly has many health benefits. It has a slightly pink colour like a nice rose because of the snake blood in there. The head chef smiled a bit. Enjoy the food dear guests.

About a half hour later, during the course of which small talk has probably happened if the Tagmatine guests have not died...

Gentlemen. Dinner proper is served. Attendant sailors delivered a silver plate to each seated person about the table. The rolled up napkins and a fresh set of cutlery placed before them. Appetizer plates taken, as were previously used forks, knives, napkins etc. Each steak was sizable, still steaming. Sides included red potatoes, and a maize meal porridge that was slightly liquid and runny in form, made with milk, butter, cream and sugar. Bread rolls were dispensed in several baskets down the center of the table with bowls of butter cream beside each.

Syious had meant to thank the chefs and the Chief of the Kitchen but first had to swallow his remaining xiiva sauriv before the appetizer plate had been withdrawn. Dabbing at his lips a bit with the napkin, he made sure he was not adorned with any food matter before rising up, flute glass of vyklade trekis held up and towards his fellow officers as well as his Tagmatine guests. To the future between our peoples. An officer in service wear stepped up to the table, leaning into the Duke's ear nearest before departing rapidly away from the formal dining area. I have been informed that we are just now entering the outskirts of the Azuran international territories and that they we will be on a direct path towards the nearest air base in the area, their diplomat shall be arriving via helicopter in just under two hours.

He took a slight drink, savoring the taste with a bit of a relaxed smile. It was an acquired taste he supposed but it was well worth it as he became familiar with it again, such delicacies weren't normally on his palette. He didn't normally eat this fair, despite his status as a Duke, he ate quite normally. Preferring the staple foods and so forth. Once they are aboard, and proper greetings have been given, we shall set sail to the lands of belonging to the Empire of Kylarnatia. I am told that journey will also be rather short.

[Tagmatium]

That Syious didn't seem to be too put out by his butchering of the Takhisian tongue made Makarios absurdly proud for a moment. He was no master of foreign languages and he had worried that attempting to speak Takhisian would have gone down like a lead balloon. Like a lead airship... he quashed that thought as soon as it sprang up. It had taken him a long time to learn even that smattering of Takhisian, but then that was what the diplomatic corps was for, not foreign ministry officials. Affinity for learning languages was not something that was really necessary.

“It is an honour that you invite us to dinner, droungarios,” said Makarios, giving a half-bow that was repeated by both Zoilos and the Molaghos-Kentarkhes. The sailors all seemed to cheer up as Frel talked about the meal that was being provided to the diplomats, something that the Tagmatines weren’t sure was a good sign or not.

Worg steaks? What in Christ’s name was a “worg”? thought Makarios.

It sounded like what some tongues referred to as a wolf, or perhaps even dog. Different cultures felt that different animals were off-limits from a culinary perspective and the Greater Holy Empire certainly didn’t eat canines as standard… it was something that had only been really eaten during a siege. Not necessarily something that the logothetes would be happy eating, but it would be rude to refuse, although he did want to try it at some point. It might not even be dog, but some weird creature native to the lands of these barbaroi, Makarios reasoned to himself. It would be a snowball’s chance in hell that the Takhisians would have a decent retsina on board this floating anachronism, but at least it was something to experience. One could tell a lot from a culture by its food and how it was prepared. The Tagmatine diplomat knew that it had been a past delicacy within the Greater Holy Empire to eat dormouse, which had forced fed until it filled a ceramic vessel and then boiled alive… he hoped that Takhisians didn’t indulge in quite so cruel culinary habits. It had fallen out of favour within Tagmatium several centuries ago.

If nothing else, the animal had become quite rare.

Once Frel had finished outlining the menu, the command staff returned to the task of running the airship, issuing orders and setting the huge vessel and its escorts on course towards the next stop on the delegation’s route. Most of the orders went over Makarios’ head, although he noted semi-naked curiosity on Zoilos’ face. The same expression would probably have been on the face of the head of the Tagmatine bodyguard, but that was masked by the helmet that he wore. Makarios caught the attention of Zoilos.

“We’ll probably just get under their feet here, Logothetes. Best that we go back to our rooms until dinner time.”

The Logothetes for War looked disappointed, but he nodded his agreement.

---

There was a knock at the stateroom’s door and Makarios looked up from the information document that he was re-reading. He had washed and dressed in a fresher suit a good half-hour before and had been killing time idly looking through some of the information that his ministry had provided for him on Takhisis. It never did to be late, as it could be construed as incompetence, or a snub towards a diplomatic host. He rose to his feet and ran a hand over his clothes and through his hair, making sure that everything was as presentable as it could be. In theory, a logothetes of the Greater Holy Empire had ceremonial, courtly robes that could be worn for such special occasions, but these had fallen out of favour in the reign of Kommodos III. Plus, Makarios thought that he looked like a bit of an idiot in them.

The head of the bodyguard opened the door after the logothetes of Wider World Affairs had given him a curt nod. The soldier gave the Takisian sailor a brief half-bow before stepping aside and allowing Makarios into the doorway. The sailor’s monologue washed over the minister, who was looking at the array of medals on the chest of the man… well, he must have been younger than twenty and already he had lots of shiny baubles. Typical barbaroi, glorifying in the glinting things.

As the sailor left, the rest of the Tagmatine delegation followed on in his wake. It followed the same pattern as before, Makarios feigning interest whilst off in his own thoughts and Zoilos and the Molaghos-Kentarkhes seemingly genuinely interested in the technological marvel that was the airship. This time, the priest was also with them, as Makarios had thought it best to make sure that the representative of the Iconoclastic Orthodox Church was included in the events, just to make sure that the powerful organisation was not being snubbed. He didn’t know much about the man, or care to, and part of him was curious to see whether the priest would do anything like attempt to lead them in saying grace over the food. Which was something that struck Makarios as something that could potentially be quite amusing. Or, he realised, the perfect way to insult the foreign heathens.

Shit. That wouldn't be good....

The Foreign Ministry logothetes pulled himself back from his own thoughts when the sailor stopped short of a hatch and knocked on it. Makarios took the brief moment before the hatch opened to straighten his tie and smooth out any creases in his suit. The sound of armour clinking and jingling made clear that the Excoubitos was also making sure that his uniform looked impressive. It was a mixture of plate mail and lamellar, covered in mirror-shined black lacquer, over an antique-looking red uniform, topped off by a stern-looking masked sallet helm. Ordinarily, the helm would not be removed in the presence of anyone other than other members of the Exkoubitoi, but this was an obvious impracticality when attempting to be part of a diplomatic dinner.

The smells of the banquet were definitely appetising. Even if they were made from whatever the hell a “worg” was, and the potential for pot-boiled dormice. As the Tagmatine delegation entered the High Command Eatery, Makarios was struck by the size of the table that dominated the room. It was made from a red wood he couldn’t identify from where he stood – nor would he be able to identify it when sat at it, as he was no wood expert. The room reminded him of one of the many stately homes that lay across the Greater Holy Empire. It was amazing to think that it was several thousand metres above the earth. That thought made a wave of nausea pass through the Tagmatine, but rather than the smell of the food exacerbating the nausea, it made it lessen.

After the droungarios spoke, Makarios gave the traditional half-bow.

“It is a great honour that you do us, droungarios. We are grateful that you allow us to sit with your noble and brave officers and treat us to such impressive fare.”

---

When the plate was put in front of the Logothetes for Wider World Affairs, his first thought was that pot-boiled dormice would probably have been better. The chef said the weird balls on his plate were garlic-fried sharks’ eyes, and they looked about as appetising as it sounded. Makarios resisted the urge to prod one with his fork. It was often said that foreign nations would test foreigners by getting some of the most disgusting things that they could find and telling the naïve foreigner that it was a national dish. The barbarians would then hide their laughs as they proceeded to eat the item. Makarios wasn’t so sure that this was the case, but he half believed. At least he wasn’t Zoilos. Spiders’ legs sounded even worse. The Molaghos-Kentarkhes and the priest seemed to have got off lightly. Being a petty, spiteful man honed by years of working within the paranoid and backstabbing atmosphere of a Tagmatine logothesion, he would find some way of making that up to them later.

Still, the presentation was quite exquisite and it was a good insight into the Takhisian homeland. A lot can be learned from a culture from its food, although it would have taken a more scholarly person than Makarios to do so. As it was, most of it looked to him like off-cuts and waste. Items that more civilised people would have thrown away, not served up to honoured guests. The worg was impressively presented and it appeared to be some sort of canine after all. Makarios didn’t bat an eyelid at this. Dogs were well known as food within Europa, although within the Greater Holy Empire they weren’t held as such. He’d never had dog himself and had wanted to try it. Just now he had to battle through fucking sharks’ eyes to try it.

“These spiders’ legs are certainly delicious,” said the Logothetes for War. “How were they prepared, if I may ask? May I try some of the worg? It definitely looks excellent. The presentation is fantastic.”

Oh, you’re on the list now, too, thought Makarios. He wasn’t going to be shown up by some oik from the Logothesion for War. He jabbed his fork into one of the sharks’ eyes and cut it neatly down the middle with his knife before eating half of it, trying not to remember that it was a shark’s eye. Surprisingly, it wasn’t as bad as he feared it might be. Perhaps a touch too much garlic for his own liking, but there was no accounting for foreign tastes.

“Is there any particular shark this dish is made from?” asked Makarios, interested despite himself. The Takhisians were putting on a fairly impressive show of their homeland’s dishes. Give him oenegarum and retsina any day, rather than such a combination of flavours, although it wasn't that bad.

The snake-containing wine was certainly a change to the wines that the Tagmatine palate was used to. It definitely wasn’t unpleasant, though. Rice wasn’t usually grown in the Greater Holy Empire, although there were areas in the south that did possess paddy fields and rice wine was considered something of a provincial drink from those areas. The addition of a snake definitely made it a novel drink. Again, Makarios was surprised by the stops the Takhisians were pulling out for this meeting. First of all, the impressive arrival of the airships, which would undoubtedly remain a talking topic in the Greater Holy Empire for years to come, and then the vast array of foods that they were providing to their guests. They were definitely trying to make a mark and demonstrating the image of what a Takhisian meant to be to the rest of the world.

The chef invited them to enjoy the food and, to his own surprise, Makarios found that he was. It was definitely foreign and he was picking items he recognised (or, at least, couldn’t identify) more than otherwise, but it was an experience that he wouldn’t have missed. It was undoubtedly helped along by a few glasses of the Takhisian red and the snake-rice-wine. The main course of the meal was brought in with some ceremony. Presumably it was because the ancestors of the Takhisians were used to hardships and unfamiliar with having meals at proper times, thought Makarios. However, the meal itself was palatable and, after the varying array of appetisers, fairly plain. The steak was presumably beef, although to look at it one couldn’t tell. Perhaps it was another one of these worgs that seemed to plague Takhisian lands. In the Greater Holy Empire, lamb and mutton would have taken the place of the worg. It was certainly a ubiquitous animal when it came to meals within Tagmatium.

As the chief diplomat, Makarios realised that it was probably his place to say something. He stood up and waited for silence. Tapping a glass with an item of cutlery struck him as very crude, so he waited until the rest of the Tagmatine delegation and the Takhisian officers noticed him. The logothetes returned the toast of the Takhisian Lord of Hosts.

“I must thank the Lord of Hosts for kindly allowing us on his vessel. I know the term ‘honoured sirs’ seems to be thrown around a lot in our alliance, but I feel that it is truly applicable after this display of hospitality.” Makarios gave a half bow towards Syious. “I am honoured to have partaken of such delightful dishes from across your culture. Food and drink can often be an insight into a culture and a nation, and the dishes that have been laid before me and my compatriots have certainly allowed us a glimpse of the wonderful and honoured Takhisian nation. I feel I can foresee many years of our great countries working together.”

Makarios sat back down after his small speech. He looked forward to meeting the representatives from Kylarnatia. He remembered packing off that bitch Vatatzkes there a few years ago. This would be the first time he got to meet people from the Ancient Empire personally. The Logothetes wondered if they were anything like the reports that Vatatzkes came back with.

[New Azura]

AAF Station South King's Run, Kingshearth and Laurel, Marguerithe Prefecture
Headquarters of the 150th Auxiliary Support Wing of the Azuran Air Force — 1215 Hours Azuran Time

From afar, the gargantuan airship Leviathan cut an imposing figure through the ambient clouds off the southwestern coast adjacent to the annex, glistening in an effervescent sheen amidst its Imperial escort of smaller fighter craft. Oleg Korzakhov never grew tired of the pomp and circumstance of royal formalities, even if his own personal displacement in the foreign lands of the Azur caused him some hesitancy from time to time. He could appreciate, in some small measure, the intricacies of honor and virtue that permeated every aspect of activity conducted by the Praetura and those forces loyal to it. He had never quite acclimated to the nuances of his adopted homeland, and that was okay; the women of Azura were aesthetically pleasing, even if they were uniformly conservative for the tastes his palette had come to relish.

A drunk hooker on aphrodisiacs and blow would be too conservative for your tastes...

Oleg shook his head, instinctively rubbing at the aching knot in the back of his neck. Though he would never cop to it publicly—especially not to that Strega prick Cailean—the years were beginning to catch up to Oleg. To anyone that asked, he would merely make some offhanded quip about never having acclimated to the decidedly unique Azur cuisine, but the truth was far more heartbreaking and sordid than that. Just last month, he had been forced to begin using 'male enhancement cream' to 'rise to the occasion', so to speak, and it had delivered a harrowing blow to his conscious self. He wasn't the man he was in the halcyon days of his youth, so many seasons ago, and it was weighing on his mind. Though he had long been running the race to escape the piercing purpose of fate, time was a finite resource that all eventually ran out of in the end.

Even so, recriminations and self-doubt would have to wait for a more opportune time to manifest, for it was not apropos standing on the tarmac of an airbase. Oleg checked his watch for the twelfth time in as many minutes, a gold-plated Kira that had been gifted to him by the Vice Minister of Ambassadorial Management. His impatience with his own internal musings was mirrored only by his wanton desire to get out of the increasing warmth on the middle of the open expanse; the pavement was being baked by an unusually radiant and warm Azur afternoon for this time of the year, and it was causing beads of sweat to begin to crest on his brow. Were the fates kind to his plight, they would've provided for some small measure of relief; perhaps young college co-eds in wet t-shirts, or co-eds without t-shirts own who were trying to determine which to wear...

"All hands, attention! Order Arms!"

Oleg turned back towards the main terminal—realistically a hangar for tankers—at the sound of the call to attention, catching sight straightaway of the Praetorian Guard filtering out of the shaded overhang. The Praetorian Guards always carried their antiquities with them as Oleg liked to call them; vast shields emblazoned with ancient markings of the Order of Severus and the Crest of the Azur Lion, with bronze-handled sabers drawn and glistening with polished veneers. Though he could appreciate the attention to detail the troop paid, and the inordinate amount of time they spent drilling so as to move not as individuals, but as a collective consciousness together en masse, there came a time when the dramatic flair of the Praetura was too much, and they were borderline as was. Though with an honor regiment of Poinsettia Sentinels already standing out on the tarmac...

Calixte is here; there's no other reason for the Guard to supplement what's already out here.

Sure enough, in the midst of the contingency, Oleg could make out the familiar hair color of his liege, the Praetor herself. Calixte wasn't one to embrace the formalities of her rank in Azur society very often; were he not so affectionate towards her, he would've long dismissed her machinations as the envies of a bleeding heart. Yet today she was in full Praetorian regalia, wearing enough jewels and stones to sink a battlecruiser, with a v-neck tunic top and a long, black satin skirt clinging to her hips in a way that gave Oleg a thrill between his legs. She wasn't a flirt by any stretch of the imagination, but when she wanted to, she could certainly doll herself up in the regalia of Azuran royalty. Vardanyan cut a dignified, albeit youthful figure amongst the crowd, and still Oleg had never quite wrapped his head around how she'd managed to find favor with the nobility at the outset.

As the Praetor approached where Oleg stood, it dawned on him that she meant to follow him into the helicopter that would take them to rendezvous with the Takhisian airship Leviathan. The original plan was to allow Oleg to stand in as one of Azura's senior diplomats, freeing up the Foreign Minister to continue his trade negotiations with Ulthrannia and the southeastern states. There had never been any mention of the Praetor going, nor had there been any formal word given to him that plans were to be changing. And though Oleg knew that Calixte meant well, and respected both his admonitions and his counsel, he was more than a little flustered by the Praetor's sudden appearance on the tarmac. If she hadn't considered him capable of handling the oh-so-delicate schmoozing that was sure to abound on the airship, she shouldn't have sent him in the first place.

The helicopter that was sitting ahead on the nearest helipad adjacent to the tarmac was beginning to warm up its engines in lieu of the approaching Takhisian airship, but Calixte's voice was still overly loud in the humid air: "You didn't think I was letting you go alone with the Tagmatines and Takhisians, did you?"

"It never crossed my mind," Oleg gushed.

[The Order of Takhisis]

New Arrivals

Waiting to greet the helicopter and it's entourage deboarding was that of the Executive Officer, Frel Daist. Much like before, he was dressed to the t's for the event at hand. White uniform with a black sash across the chest connected to a black belt, gloved hands clutching each other behind his back. Unlike before for the previous diplomatic party, there were only two sailors present besides himself. These were not mere sailors pulled at the last moment however, these were deck officers representing the Leviathan and her Lordship.

Those chosen for this prestigious affair consisted of Officer of the Watch Kenif, and that of Officer of Communique Thren. The first was just under the age of twenty, with the ethic appearance of one whom hailed from the city Xiiva Maulkir. Located far inland, Xiiva Maulkir's main production was that of agriculture, so sailors were unusually uncommon from this area. He stood just under one-hundred-eighty centimeters tall, and Frel figured by his appearance that he was probably around seventy-five or so kilograms. Dark brown hair, green eyes, and a crooked smile when it was offered were the first things that came to memory when thinking of OoW Kenif.

OoC Thren hailed from Neraka's RiverPlace ward. A true area of business and trade, it is little surprise that Thren became a sailor. Riverplace long having an established presence within the aero-fleets. Like many from Riverplace, she was of slender build, with hair that some referred to as a soft blonde, and narrow features. Eyes of grey-blue peered forth and the woman herself was quite bubbly, however could be quite the professional when demanded of her, such as now.

Frel had chosen well he believed anyways, these two were future command level officers, so it was well worth the moment given to them to welcome aboard foreign faces. This was part test, part honorable welcome for esteemed guests. How they performed was going to be quite interesting, though he believed they would pass without fail, such was his trust in their abilities as they waited upon the top landing deck for those very same foreigners.

The weather of the Azuran territory was quite different from that of the Tagmatine lands. Though they had not been present in it for long, it was enough for him to discern the acute differences, even if only slight. He spoke to the officers behind and flanking to either side.We expect two, seasoned members of the Azuran government. You will treat them as if they were of the Empress's line. A chorus of yessirs followed, as well as the traditional clicking of boot heels. He did not expect them to do any less, but should there have been a query as protocol, Frel had answered such definitively.

The trio stood before the lone landing pad, it was upon a series of levers so that it could be lowered into the main hanger, but for the moment it was simply locked into place by massive struts and locks. Magnetic boots locked into place against the portions of the hull, and so they awaited even as above the Leviathan, the destroyer Kalipis crossed over. An aero-destroyer was no small vessel, but even here it was dwarfed by the flagship. It cast a fleeting shadow over the top deck as Frel's gaze remained fixated uponst the ground some dozens of meters below.

With the flagship in hover mode, used ragnite particles drifting through the air through massive vents as the propellers spun slowly. The great forced air jets kept the massive vessel afloat and just over eighty meters from the surface at keel. Before the Azuran's upon the ground, her cannon were massive, the Leviathan herself, gigantic beyond belief of what should be allowed to traverse the winds of the skies above. On the either flank of the great vessel, emblems of the First Fleet, and the Lord of Host's family crest were visible. It appeared as a wreathe of clouds with a falcon cresting the center and an arrow clutched in it's wings.

Banners of red and gold streamed from the bow, catching the wind and the mist like precipitation in that aforementioned breeze. They flapped with authority while the escort fighters zipped about the collection of three said vessels. The smaller yet no less formidable aero-destroyers and the Leviathan herself. Ragnite particles danced upon the air, like so much a sheen of azure light to the naked eye. It made the scene from the ground near surreal and almost otherworldly in a fashion.

Landing

As the Azuran helicopter landed, setting it's wheels to the tarmac of the pad, Frel and OoW Kenif remained at station away from the landing pad, while OoC Thren had already made her way up. Her uniform of white, officers cap held within the crook of right arm, gloved right hand forming a salute to those occupants who would make grand exit from said helicopter, down the stairs and following her to where Frel and OoW Kenif waited. She turned about to one side, and keeping both with her eyesight, extended a greeting to the Azuran party.

My Lady and accompanying staff, I present, Executive Officer Daist, Second in Command of the Leviathan Dreadnought. She paused and then resumed.Accompanying officers are myself, Officer of Communiques Thren, and Officer of the Watch Kenif. Of whom also saluted as his superior Daist had done moments ago. Thren continued.We are to escort you to your staterooms, and eventually to the dinner room of our Lordship, and master of this vessel.

[The Batorys]

A nearby clock's hands moved slowly, as the Adjunct sat at her desk, momentarily looking around, in slight surprise, as she realized that she had nothing further to do here, in this office. Varn had made the Dragon's Claw assignment earlier, through a direct meeting with Roka, who was pleasant as always, if slightly unnerving, given what the Adjunct knew about the current mistress of the Dragon's Claw and her grisly previous deeds in the service of the organization, and its masters, the Batory clan. The Adjunct fully believed that the moroii did in fact have a plan for how to kill everyone she'd ever met, as the adage went. Several plans, depending on how clean or messy the desired result was.

The woman whose job it often was to be a sort of 'voice of the Empress' enjoyed the brief moment of calm, even, somewhat incongruously given her office, putting her feet up on her desk, leaning back to look at the view from here of the River Vas. Despite flowing through the city, it was surprisingly clean, much more so than its color suggested, as that was due to the reddish soil in this area, high in iron content. In the distance, down the river, could be barely made out the shape of one of Istengrad's more infamous drinking establishments... it was probably a lot quieter than usual at the moment, given that the 27th Army, many of whose members formed a large chunk of its clientele, were still in Karthay.

However relaxing the moment of downtime was, though, it couldn't last. The doors of Varn's office here at the Lair slammed open, to allow an obviously displeased Minister Ponteia to walk in. Storm in, really.

Varn sighed. "Ah, to what do I owe the pleasure, Minister?" This, of course, was somewhat feigned politeness. The Adjunct knew quite well what the other woman was upset about, and thus, what they were about to discuss. As Space Exploration Minister, Najhri Ponteia had authority over the entire Batory Imperial Ministry of Space Exploration. While Ponteia had risen through the ranks on the basis of merit, having thrown herself into BIMSE's work even while her home province was burning up in the last Eastern Rebellion, remaining dedicated to her profession even while daily hearing reports from her home of friends and relatives disappearing, or worse, and so had the Adjunct's respect, the two had never gotten along very well. Varn had grown up a city girl in the northwest provinces, while Ponteia on the other hand had been raised on a farm kilometers from the nearest town, in the far southeastern frontier of the Batory clan's territory. While such differences in upbringing might not always lead to butting heads, in this case they somewhat did. She found Najhri to be idealistic to the point of naivete in some ways, and while the Minister wasn't exactly bad at the politics of making sure her budget wasn't cut (she could certainly put forth a forceful argument and if necessary play on both the Batorys' sense of honor and their vanity to get what BIMSE needed), she could occasionally be irritatingly oblivious to political realities. Varn reflected on the probability that Minister Ponteia found her to be alarmingly opportunistic and amoral.

"Don't act like this is a surprise." Clearly Najhri was not surprised or impressed with Varn's display of politeness. "When are you returning my pilots?"

The Adjunct's face was blank for a moment as she processed the question. "I'm sorry, returning?" she finally said.

"Yes, you know, giving back." It seemed that Varn's confused reply had only served to further enrage the Space Minister. "When will you be sending BIMSE's best pilots back to us?"

"I'm afraid you misunderstand... the navy isn't borrowing them. They're not your pilots anymore." The Adjunct braced herself for the fury this revelation would no doubt unleash.

"What?!" Najhri erupted, as predicted. "You're keeping them?! What the fuck for?! They're voidwalkers, they wanted to join BIMSE, that's why they did." While technically the pilots were now under the authority of the Batory Imperial Navy, not Varn directly, she had been the one to recruit them and transfer them, and so the error was forgivable.

An unconcerned shrug preceded the reply. "For the same thing they were transferred to the navy for in the first place: piloting subfighters. If it's any consolation, the former voidwalker pilots have been the fastest to adapt to the new technology." With a shrug, she added "and it doesn't really matter what they want, as they're all former military pilots. They said the words when they joined."

"Why? Every report I've seen, and I have seen several, shows that the war is winding down, and we'll be at peace soon." Najhri said, incredulous. "And of course they're the best. They're voidwalkers. They damn well should be, with our training."

It was all Varn could do to keep herself from laughing. "Peace?!" she exclaimed with a sniff. Her feet now on the floor, she was clearly no longer relaxed. "Do you think that just because we may soon no longer be at war with the Rhydinians that they cease to be our enemies?" Despite the war's relative brevity, it had clearly worn on the Adjunct. Many hard choices had been necessary. "The only reason we might have peace is that we proved to be more formidable adversaries than our opponents expected. Do you think they won't be watching us to see if we continue our effort to close the technological gap, or at least, not let it widen any further, without the pressure of war? Karthay exposed critical weaknesses in our military, weaknesses that we must address. The tricks we used to work around them will only work once. With fighter craft both in the air and underwater, the navy needs twice as many pilots as before, and skilled ones at that, as subfighters are quite a bit more demanding than you might guess. If we let up now, the Rhydinians will just hit us hard later when we're not suspecting it, and even more unprepared than we were before. I can't let that happen." The last was spoken with her fist banging on the desk.

Having no real argument against this, Najhri Ponteia stewed, arms crossed. Clearly she had not much thought about the delicate diplomatic situation, but was beginning to understand it now. "What," she said, finally, quiet now, "is BIMSE supposed to do about the pilot situation? You haven't taken all of our pilots, but you did take a lot of them, and our best."

The Adjunct nodded, leaning on her desk, head supported by one hand. She wasn't unsympathetic, of course. From BIMSE's perspective, what she'd done was a significant setback. Not crippling, but a major pain in the ass. They had every reason to be angry with her. "Train up more. Recruit from the civilian sector a bit more, as well."

"That will take time, and money, that we don't have. I've had to put numerous missions on hold because of this. Some will probably have to be cancelled. Some have already been." Exasperation clearly showed in the Minister's voice.

Varn idly tapped the surface of the desk with her fingers. "While I am not going to argue that you should lower your standards, I think you overestimate the necessity of having two elite pilots on every crewed mission, to some degree." Early remote guidance systems used by the Batory Empire for rockets and spacecraft had been nothing short of terrible, and so piloting skill had become a very important aspect of both being recruited as a voidwalker and also a very extensive part of training as one. While guidance systems were much improved now, the ability to do without them remained an integral part of BIMSE's standards for its spacecraft pilots. Before Najhri could voice an indignant reply, which clearly had been about to do, the Adjunct held up her hand to forestall any such thing. "That aside, the money will not be an issue. I know you're about to say that it's not in your budget for this year, but that's a matter I was actually going to discuss with you in a few days time, you know, when we had our scheduled meeting, which you could have just waited for, but I suppose I may as well tell you now, seeing as how you're in my office." The adjunct sighed. "We have decided that there is a new mission that BIMSE should carry out, one that will, of course, necessitate a substantially larger budget."

One dark eyebrow rose in curiosity. "I'm listening... but first, who is 'we,' exactly?"

"The heir, myself, and the Empress, of course. Actually, the Empress doesn't know it yet, but she'll agree, I'm sure. That's why I was going to wait until a few days from now, so that I could discuss the program with her first."

"All right, assuming that she does agree, what's the mission?" Najhri's voice was hopeful, but with a bit of a hint of skepticism. "You know we prefer to propose our own missions."

"As we both know, much of your early career advancement was during the initial phase of the Mars program... and I know that you've long lobbied for a more permanent presence on that planet." Varn smiled as she began. "That may lie in the future, but as a first step towards that, BIMSE shall undertake long-term colonization experiments on Near Earth Objects. How many Zarathustra 9s do you currently have available?" While it was simply a coincidence, as the development of the Zarathustra series of launch vehicles had started over fifty years ago, far before the start of the current Space Minister's career, the Adjunct had always found it amusing that Najhri Ponteia, a Zoroastrian, had ended up supervising so many launches of such. If the other woman had found it uncomfortable, she'd never mentioned it. Perhaps it was even a point of pride. The ninth model in the series, also the largest and most powerful, had been Ponteia's work, after all, thirty years ago.

"There are four operational right now, five more being refurbished, and three more ordered as replacements for those too far gone to refurbish any of their stages, but some of those are already spoken for, needed for delivery of hardware for the lunar collaboration with ISED, so really there are four actually becoming available in the next year, assuming there are no problems that require them as backups, which is never a safe assumption." Confronted by all this new information, the Minister's brain apparently decided it was easier to simply state facts and figures.

"Well, you'll need far more than that. At least twenty, I'm guessing," the Adjunct said, somewhat flippantly.

Ponteia blinked. "Excuse me? Did you say twenty? You know how expensive that will be? Are you sure?"

Varn smiled. "Quite sure. The number of different colonies I and Ilona discussed will require that many, we concluded."

"Why so many?" Najhri seemed suspicious now. A fair question, though.

"Different colony configurations. And other reasons," the Adjunct said. "I'll have the general requirements to you in a few days. There are a few specific needs that you will be made aware of, but beyond that, the details will be left up to you to figure out. Obviously there will be a budget increase, for both the hardware and the increased time spent training personnel."

This elicited a nod, wheels obviously beginning to turn in Ponteia's mind.

"I'd warn you to try to keep it efficient anyway, but so far you've done so, and so I don't think I have to worry about that. Oh... and one more thing... this is to be a BIMSE project, mainly. Continued ISED collaboration will be allowed, and following this program, collaboration in Mars missions, certainly, but this specific project should be domestic in as much as is possible."

Again, a suspicious look from the Space Minister. No words, though.

"Now, I have an appointment to make with the Takhisians, in a few hours, so I'm afraid I must kick you out of my office. I'll keep BIMSE in mind, though."

Goodbyes were exchanged, and Najhri Ponteia strode out the door, her gait considerably less agitated than when she'd walked in. Varn sighed. That had gone rather well, considering.

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At the punishing turbulence, Varn did not so much as blink. Going anywhere by air this far north in the Empire was always like this, at this time of year through the winter, and she was, in fact, from the Northwestern Provinces, the fjords of which the Takhisian air-flotilla had doubtlessly already passed over on their way to this location, the Plains of Sorrow, the dourly named gap in the mountain range that formed the eastern border of the Northwest Provinces, and the most prominent feature of the Imperial Province.

Even with the winds and snow picking up to what might soon be a blizzard, the glow of the still-near capital, Sarkanotthon was the most notable sight on the snow covered plateau. Given the stereotypes about her mistress' people, many foreign visitors were surprised at the new (or, relatively, at around 1500 years old) capital's brightness. Those who hadn't seen pictures of it before invariably did not expect the city to be built primarily in light colors, with the green lit government and temple buildings themselves stark white. The largest of these, the palace, known as the Hearth, was a bright beacon in the approaching twilight.

At this height, the city's street plan became quite apparent, revealing to any observer that it had been built in the form of Ithtyr's pointed symbol inside a the circle formed by the city's outer boulevard, and beyond, the parkland where a grove surrounding the city was practically a thick forest, albeit one with very carefully managed edges, so that it, too, formed a perfect circle around the city. Oddly for an enormous city that had no walls, there was no sprawl, the line between urban and rural so clearly delineated as to give the appearance of having been inscribed by a god's hand. And what a monumental show of arrogance its construction had been. In what most called the sixth century, CE, at a time when there was so much chaos, the Batorys' newly declared Second Empire had embarked upon the construction of an enormous city... without any walls or defensive fortifications whatsoever. Some had laughed at the gesture, calling it folly, but wiser witnesses had known it for the statement it was, had known it to be the Batorys' display that they were so unconcerned by their neighbors that their new capital would need no walls, no trenches, no moats or pits... they had known the insult that such a gesture was to all other existent powers at the time, that the Batorys were confident that none could even come close enough for the new capital's lack of defenses to matter. Thinking on the audacity of it, the Adjunct smiled.

On the same plateau, but some distance away in the west, the old capital, Istengrad could be seen. Much older than Sarkanotthon, it was so many things the capital was not. Varn always found it odd looking upon the archaic metropolis from this height... the ancient city had not been built with any organized street plan, and its buildings, most notably the old Batory fortress, known as the Lair, were of dark colors, mainly built in stone. The city had, as far as most people thought, been there since before recorded history, its origins lost to time. Varn, privy to the secret histories, one of the few outside the Batory clan themselves to be so, knew better, that the city had started as an insignificant village, and was older than the general population assumed by a significant margin. Of course, little was left of that time, and it had certainly not had Istengrad's current high walls, themselves now ancient, nor was it anywhere near its current size, but it was a continuous settlement. Unlike the newer capital, it was not a beautiful city by any stretch of the imagination (although it had some charm, Varn thought), except to various academics interested in such things as the ancient evolution of architectural styles, as the city had been built and partially rebuilt in fits and starts, never with a unified plans, and so now encompassed the building aesthetics of a dozen different eras, resulting in a truly bizarre and disjointed appearance.

Though, due to its familiarity, not nearly as strange as the constructions her helicopter now neared. She had heard some descriptions from the front, and seen a few pictures, but the gigantic Takhisian airships were something altogether different when seen in person. They were unlike anything she had seen before, and their very presence in the air was baffling. She had heard that her allies were incredibly secretive about the vessels' engineering sections, and Varn could see why. It only made sense that the Takhisians would be most protective of the secrets to the flight of the behemoths. Bristling with weapons, she guessed that the platform between the fore and aft bridges would be where she would embark. She wondered at the thoughts of those people in the cities below, staring agape. Wonder, or hysteria, as a result? Or something between the two? Varn was confident in Sarkanotthonians and Istengraders not to panic. They were folk to whom shock did not come easily, after so long living in land from which the Batorys themselves had originated, and under the rule of that clan. Still, even at this height, Varn could see crowds assembling in the main thoroughfares to gawk at the foreign sky ships. The other representative of the Empire also, unsurprisingly, seemed to be staring intently at the aerial vessels, fascination evident on her face, large green eyes locked on the ships. Hearing stories from Karthay about the strange Takhisian behemoths was one thing... seeing them in person was an altogether different matter... especially to one of the Batory Empire's most prolific naval architects.

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Buffeted this way and that by the high winds, the comparatively tiny craft careened upwards at an alarming speed and trajectory towards the largest of the three dreadnoughts of the sky. At first appearing almost on a collision course, the helicopter, veering back and forth, in actuality overshot the Leviathan's launch deck. However, it appeared that this was the intention, as three stout ropes snaked down, weighted at the ends by travel bags as typical in many militaries.

A thin figure plummeted down one rope, apparently falling more than sliding, not slowing the descent until almost to the deck, at which point smoke came from the hands. The figure, revealed to be a woman in dark grey clothing with strikingly stark white hair despite a face that could be no older than forty, stepped lightly and nonchalantly onto the deck after stopping completely near the end of the rope. She tossed two unidentifiable but distinctly blackened and burnt items from her hands, apparently used in slowing her descent without injury. Small weapons could be seen at her belt, but she did not reach for them, despite clear alertness in her strangely dark eyes.

Following her was a second figure, this one a tall man with dark skin who descended more slowly, attired in dark blue clothing of what seemed to be a relatively formal cut, altered for combat use. More clearly heavily armed than his companion, he but cocked one eyebrow as he stepped from the rope. Like the woman, his clothing seemed oddly flat in some places, as if reinforced with solid plates of some kind, more apparent on his garb than on the first hyperborean's.

A second woman descended. Hair somewhere between blonde and brown, going to grey, her eyes were an icy blue, reinforcing the frigid cold of her weary mien. She was unarmed but for what appeared to be a one handed axe at her hip, and adorned in what seemed to be a very plain military uniform, but trimmed with dark green instead of the usual dark red seen on Batory military attire. The garment was also, if anything, even more minimalist than even a private's garb. On the chest, was visible the emblem of the Adjunct to the Empress. Her chilly expression was calm as her escort detached the luggage from the ropes the small party had used to embark, one of them then signalling the helicopter to move further away.

Finally, the last figure to join them slid down, bearing an even more incongruous appearance. She was short of stature, a storm of iron-grey hair framing a pale face with startlingly green eyes... unlike the others, she wore jet black, and above her boots a skirt rather than trousers like the others. A matching vest left her arms bare, intricate tattooing visible for all to see, including some iconography that seemed vaguely socialist, but most visible was an axe crossed with a thorny red rose on one shoulder, done in the style of heraldry. The rose's color was matched by subtle stitching on the otherwise monochrome garments.

The third to arrive took the lead, however, and to the Takhisians within listening distance, she spoke, clearly but without much more inflection than her sing-song accent gave her. No doubt, the higher ups aboard were quite aware of her presence. "If my words are understood by any, I believe our presence here is expected. I am Varn, Adjunct to Empress Vereba Batory, here by invitation." Gesturing to the last hyperborean to arrive, she added "And this is Madar Sorvik, matriarch of her clan, also here by invitation."

[The Order of Takhisis]

As the Batory representative arrived, she as said emissary was that of a female of high rank, would be greeted by the fourth highest ranking individual aboard the Leviathan, Flying Officer Estralita. The woman in question was roughly the same height as her Duke, just over one point eight meters in height of which was pretty much an average overall. She was a brunette, hair cut to her shoulders and currently mostly under her officers cap and bearing sea-water colored eyes.

Attending to her as an honor wing to welcome the emissary of the Batorys, were four junior officers of the second bridge. All wore white dress uniforms, very prim and proper, and everything that screamed military right to the bone and core of their beings. Estralita offered a half salute before speaking. I greet you Lady Varn in the name of My Lord, Duke of the North, Syious De'Wyren, Lord Commander of the Takhisian Imperial Navy Heavy Dreadnought, The Leviathan , Flagship of the Northern Aero-Regiments.

She paused a moment.My Lord is currently hosting a dinner with other diplomatic staff present, if you will follow me, I will lead you to the dinner area and any other you wish to bring. The rest of your entourage will be lead by Warrant Officer Jeld'in, to your stateroom where your travel belongings etc may be stored. Jeld'in offered a salute at such, the young man held sandy-blonde hair cut very short, and only visible below the soft cap worn atop head. He was dressed in the formal wear of the non-commissioned officers, with pant legs tucked into the boots and a uniform more associated with infantry of a sort then that of the navy. At least perhaps from that of a foreign point of view between the two versions of attire.

Estralita would lead the way, past the hatch that would open eerily quietly, and down the metal stairs into the belly of the beast. Jeld'in would follow for a distance before signalling to those that were to accompany, whomever and how many of such anyways, and his path would lead away and down several more levels. The Flying Officer, of a rank that was equivalent to First Lieutenant in many military's, lead in silence at least until they arrived at a hatch with two sailors standing on either side of it. It opened and inside was an atmosphere unlike the rest of the vessel and ornate to a degree that it had to be an officers area.

She stood to the side, well within this are and announced the emissary. My Lord, Honored guests, Lady Varn, Adjunct to Empress Vereba Batory, has arrived. A faint tilt of head downwards before stepping out of the way fully and retreating to a chair position near enough to the Tagmatine delegation of a sort.

[The Batorys]

Officers in white had responded to her query, and Varn led her small party over. One such spoke for the group, a tall woman with brown hair and striking eyes, who introduced herself as Flying Officer Estralita. Snapping a salute in return along with Madar, though in the hyperborean manner, clenched fist over breastbone, Varn spoke just loudly enough to be heard over the wind. "Thank you for your welcome, it is a pleasure to be aboard." The wind seemed to pick up suddenly before returning to its previous dull roar, buffeting the group slightly. "Just in time, it seems, in a few ways," she added, referencing both the coming storm and the prospect of dinner with their lord host.

The male Dragon's Claw raised an eyebrow, apparently suspicious and skeptical at the idea of being separated from their charges. His female counterpart, however, her striking white hair now quite windswept, showed no visible reaction or concern, seemingly completely at ease. Both carried themselves with a casual air of those who are completely comfortable in their own bodies, who have spent years perfecting the control of such, and so appeared unperturbed by the wind, snow and sleet gusting against them as the storm arrived.

Quickly enough, the small group was inside, where their apparent host was more visible as the vibrations of the ship evidenced its change of course. While some Batory military uniforms matched the Takhisian's in grand formality, it was somewhat a tradition in the position of Adjunct to wear much more minimalist garb, hence the contrast between her finely accented white and Varn's barely trimmed dark grey. Madar, of course, wore no uniform, not being presently a military officer, striking a further contrast in being attired in civilian garb. At the apparent disparity in attire between Estralita and Jeld'in, the Adjunct gave a second glance, though said nothing. Though described as more verbose than her colleague, Adjunct Siras, Varn apparently was only talkative in comparative terms. Her best guess was that this second was part of some kind of naval infantry, akin to the Batory Empire's own Berserkers, marines as they were called in other nations. Most vessels of the Batory Imperial Navy had such aboard, to some extent a holdover from earlier times, but still useful to provide security and such, and occasional serve as boarding parties when needed. Varn assumed that for the Takhisians, there were similar needs that had to be met, as while this behemoth steamed across the sky, in most other respects it was quite similar to a water-borne warship.

A small hand signal apparently all that was needed to communicate to the Dragon's Claw which of them would accompany Varn and Madar, and which would proceed to their quarters, with their belongings. Uqmar, the tall, dark man would accompany them it seemed, Lumi, the slender white-haired woman, would go to their stateroom. While the two groups for a time took the same path, the smaller Dragon's Claw followed Jeld'in's departure, face still utterly calm and expressionless. By contrast, her male counterpart seemed genuinely interested in their unfamiliar surroundings, towering over the group, but looking this way and that as they traversed the corridors. Perhaps amusingly, the much, much shorter Madar likewise seemed constantly distracted by the ship, green eyes casting about as if to take in every single detail. So as better to steal it, some might criticize, as the Sorviks had occasionally been shameless in such activities... though they maintained that what they took, they refined.

As the surroundings changed, to a more ornate aesthetic, Varn smiled, inwardly knowing that Madar and the Sorvik clan would disapprove of such. Their ships were favored in battle, but not in peacetime, due to the rather bare bones quarters they relegated officers to. While the Adjunct admired the clan's expertise in building warships, she also felt that at times they took their communalist ideology a bit too far. Perhaps, though, Madar would overlook the obvious consideration given officers, in her fascination with the vessel's workings, and eagerness to get her hands on such. The conflict with the UFA had given her and her clan quite a bit of work to keep them busy. The work could be dangerous at times, as Xukuthite and Rhydinian technology was untested. Ironically, more Sorvik moroii had died inspecting and experimenting with the foreign vessels than at the front. Word had it that their draftroom had already produced some preliminary design studies, however, so perhaps it was worth it.

Giving a polite nod, Varn entered the dining room, briefly addressing Duke Syious De'Wyren. "Thank you for having us, my lord host," she said, then glancing around to the others, giving slight acknowledgement to each.

"Likewise," Madar added with very slight smile, her voice not quite raspy, but perhaps a hint that she had indeed been a sailor herself.