Norska, the Kraven Reich
Segmentum Meridianus
AD 25543.C21 (September 12th, 2043 Doomani Calendar)
1900 Local
Thought for the day: It is not the Horror of War that should trouble you, but the Unseen Horrors of Peace.
The Atlas-D transport came to a steady hover above the air field, its four massive tiltrotor engines rotating skyward in its approach. There was no question of to whom this aircraft belonged to; the Aquila Imperialis was emblazoned in black on its white and grey camouflage scheme on the side of the fuselage, and beneath the cockpit was the acronym 'SPQD', with a large golden Labarum embedded in each engine pod. This was not the first time the Doomani had dealt with Kraven; unbeknownst to many, many shadowy dealings had occured between the two in the past decades: exchanges of technology, diplomatic agreements, all occuring under the utmost secrecy. The pilot's approach had been superb, especially given the torrential snow which poured down upon the base. Spotlights cut through the darkness, illuminating the landing sight around which an honor guard of Capitol Police stood like statues, their weapons at shoulder arms.
The aircraft touched down gently, and the engines began to power down, their rotors slowly coming to a stop. It was a tense few minutes before they had finally stopped spinning; no sign of life had shown from the aircraft, whose windows were tinted. Suddenly, the crooning of hydraulics sounded over the howling wind. The side door, facing towards the nearby terminal, steadily dropped open, revealing a set of steps. Without a word being spoken, the dormant Capitol Police snapped to present arms as the first of the passengers stepped down from the aircraft. A behemoth of a man, the tall black crest of his helm indicating him to be a member of the Palatine Guard, strode down the steps, taking up his place beside the foot, followed by one of his comrades. One by one the men filed out, clad in white and grey camouflaged greatcoats, their AVIR rifles slung over their shoulders. Their faces were hidden behind white wool balaclavas, their eyes shielded from the storm by goggles.
Four unarmed men followed, clad in grey greatcoats, wearing woolen skullcaps. The light grey scheme of their clothing indicated them to be slaves, albeit very important ones. A final figure appeared at the threshold, red light from the interior of the aircraft casting an eerie glow about him. He was a tall, slender yet handsome man with the eyes of a serpent, though the gold-trimmed black greatcoat and miltia cap he wore made him appear considerably more imposing. He was Gaius Quintus Livius, Magister Nuntiorum and Voice of the Emperor. A smile parced upon his lips, he made his way down towards the walkway upon which a red carpet had been rolled out. All at once, all present snapped a crisp stiff-arm salute, palms horizontal to the ground, which he promptly returned. He had found it quite refreshing to find that these people used a salute nearly identical to those used by civilized folk on his first visit to Kraven.
The light emanating from nearby guard towers shone off the golden Aquila emblazoned on his cap, and he took a long breath of the cold winter's air, exhaling exhuberantly.
"It has been far too long!" he said allowed to nobody in particular with his serpentine smile.
Three officers in black trench coats approached him, the commanders of the detail. He recognized two of them as officers of the Kraven-SS, while the third appeared to be a member of their equivelent of the diplomatic corps, though he too wore a military uniform, as was the way of Kraven. The barking of German shepherd dogs could be heard in the distance, near the barbed wire fence that surrounded the perimeter.
They are ever so fond of barbed wire, these Kraven folk, he thought to himself, noting its coiling around the roof of the nearby terminal. He found it to be a bit of an eyesore, but then again he didn't expect them to be particular adept with decoration. This was, after all, a military base.
