Law, Justice and Mercy [IC/CLOSED]

by **Afalia** » Fri Jun 20, 2014 9:47 am

Queen Takes Coronation Oath
20th June 2014-Evening Edition-Afalia's Most Popular Quality Newspaper

The Queen was crowned at midday today with 7,000 guests in attendance.

QUEEN AMELIA HAS been crowned as Queen of Afalia and her overseas dominions in a coronation ceremony in St. Nicholas' Cathedral in Blackdon. The Queen took the oath binding her to serve her people and to maintain the laws of God in front of 7,000 guests. Her coronation comes 189 days after she ascended to the throne in December 2013 following the death of her grandfather King George.

In a ceremony at midday today the Queen made her way up St. Nicholas Cathedral to the sound of the Coronation Anthem. Greeted by bishops of the Church of Afalia and members of the Royal Family Amelia then proceeded to the throne to begin the ceremony. She was handed the four symbols of her authority-the royal orb, the Traditional Aafaliiaan sceptre, the royal ring of Afalian mined gold and an Afalian blue rose, by the Archbishop of Cantwell Dr. Daniel Wentworth placed the Allsyian Crown on Queen Amelia's head to complete the ceremony and officially make Amelia monarch of the Kingdom of Afalia. She swore the Coronation Oath and pledged to uphold the law, provide justice and mercy for the nation.

Shouts of 'God Save The Queen' were then made throughout the cathedral and a 21 gun salute was carried out by soldiers of the Royal Guards regiment. Simultaneously outside on the cathedral steps the Traditional Aafaliiaan tribal chief leader Geelliioo Saantaa, the official Royal Tribal Chief, proclaimed Amelia the new 'Ruueeoo oog aam Aafaliiaa', or Queen of all Afalia and performed a traditional Aafaliiaan tribal dance.

Following these celebrations the national anthem and the Royal Anthem of God Save The Queen were sung by the assembled dignitaries and guests in the cathedral. The Archbishop of Cantwell and other bishops then congratulated the Queen before she was escorted to the Verena Carriage for her trip back to the Blackdonian Palace. Approximately four million people are believed to have lined the streets to see the Queen, her husband Prince Frederick and the rest of her family as the newly crowned Queen made her way back to her residence. Despite fears of showers Blackdon was sunny and bright all day long.

Crowds grew to enormous levels outside St. Nicholas' cathedral as people aimed to get a glimpse of the vast array of guests and international celebrities who had been invited from across the region and internationally. Guests ranged from heads of state such as King William II of Regnum Albion, His Grace Duke Sylvan of Florys, Emperor Napoleon of Valyria, Empress Asuka of Mizuyuki, Vice President Huang Shi -chang of Aurinsula and Grand Duchess Krimhild of Seahold. Further afield all heads of state and government of the ICE and former Coalition of Democratic Forces including Itailia, Emmeria, Arthurista, Eagleland and Phonencia were invited. Domestically celebrities ranging from the poet lauraete to filmmaker Leonard Wowsinn were in attendance. All members of the privy council and cabinet and shadow cabinets were in attendance.

In a radio and television broadcast made at three o'clock this afternoon the Queen promised to serve the people of Afalia and her overseas dominions and unite the country in a 'scary new age.' She pledged she would also dedicate herself to ending differences between Anglo-Afalians and Traditional Aafaliiaans. The Prime Minister, who is due to retire on Wednesday, said that, 'Her Majesty the Queen will usher in a new age of prosperity in Afalia. Her continuous leadership means she has become a focal point for a nation recovering from war. With the crown on her head she will now continue to lead this nation.'

After her message the Queen, joined by her family, greeted crowds from the balcony of the Blackdonian Palace. A flyover by the Royal Afalian Air Force. A fireworks display will be held this evening, described by the Blackdonian Palace as, 'even bigger than yesterday's fleet review display.' From six o'clock the Queen will join thousands of guests in the Blackdonian Palace to celebrate her coronation, with most guests from the ceremony at St. Nicholas' Cathedral joining Queen Amelia this evening. Initial figures from the ABC have shown that around 42 million people in Afalia alone watched the ceremony. Abroad the ceremony was broadcast on hundreds of different channels.

The Queen replaced her grandfather on the 13th of December last year after he died peacefully in his sleep, after 62 years on the throne. The then Princess Amelia was proclaimed Queen automatically the same day. The coronation was delayed till the summer to increase the chances of good weather and to coincide with King George's summer coronation.

by **Florys** » Fri Jun 20, 2014 12:10 pm

OOC Apologies for the short post, I'm on a phone, a full length edit will be up tommorow.

City of Blackdon
Afalia
17:42 Local Time

"Natalie dear, please calm down, we are not going to be late, Natalie..."

"But Her Majesty is set to arrive in a matter of minutes, and it's our only chance to make a fist impression"

"Natalie, it's the day of her coronation she has bigger things to worry about than us, please, just enjoy the sights."

Julius sighed heavily, in his last two decades of office as the Grand Duke of Florys he had met just about every type of monarch imaginable, mad kings and comely queens, spoiled princes who hadn't heard the word 'No' since their rule began at age five and fragile princess regents left with the relative power of a god before finishing school, his wife however had not and was clearly feeling nervous, much to Julius' chagrin. As their car rolled through the surprisingly sunlit streets of Afalia's capital city, Blackdon, he found himself wondering, what kind of Queen this Amelia would be, she was her nation's darling, that much was clear, all smiles and charity galas, but the weight of a crown had been known to pull down the most radiant of rulers.

Julius was garbed in typical Florysian evening wear, smart by the standards of any high society yet overly bohemian to fit with the current demands of fashion in his homeland. A he wore a wide collared dress shirt of crisp white, tied by a flowing silk cravat of deep cream, layered above it was an intricately detailed waistcoat of heavy ivory fabric detailed with minute gold needle work complemented by the gold of his pocket watch chain over this was his favourite smoking jacket, a luxurious knee length affair of deepest purple velvet with burnished buttons down the chest and lapels, he wore his hair in loose curls framing his gentle features.

The car purred gently as it turned a final corner towards the palace, the quite hum of it's engine in contest with his wife's breathing exercises,
he wondered where the night would take them, it was sure to be an eventful night, that much alone was apparent, with the obvious matters at hand in contest with the public return of the Emperor Napoleon of Valyria and the political wrangling and courtships that with these events, he hoped quietly to himself that the night was memorable for the right reasons.

The dry rasping and creak of metal alerted the pair to the opening of the palace gates, throwing the view of Afalia's premier real estate front and center. Below the archaic arches, in the courtyard framed by banners of Afalian orange and blue, Julius could make out the forms of Aeneas' great and good already begin to file inwards under the watchful eyes of royal guardsmen.

"So" he said smiling reassuringly to his reluctant spouse "It begins."

by **Afalia** » Fri Jun 20, 2014 3:51 pm

Friday 20th June,
Blackdonian Palace,
central Blackdon,
Afalia
17:45 AST

'Straighten that collar now Private!'

Marcus Coleman, a private of the Royal Guards of the Afalian Army, briefly removed his hand to properly tuck in his collar. His corporal observed him with disgust for a brief moment before moving on swiftly down the line of his men and women guarding the Queen that night. Coleman sighed, the corporal wasn't usually like this, but they were on show tonight, to the public but more importantly to Her Majesty. As members of the Afalian Foot Guards, an ancient title which did not reflect their modern mechanised status, the Royal Guards were entitled, after careful selection, to guard the Queen and royal residences. As a result of this they also wore royal orange berets, something the other regiments couldn't, with their 'craphats.' Coleman smiled to himself slightly at the bizarre tradition of it all, but on a night like this, with the Queen newly crowned, bizarre tradition was suitable.

Beyond the large gates of the Blackdonian Palace thousands of people had crowded up around the Palace, public and paparazzi alike, to get a snap of some celebrity or the other. Private Coleman, realising his mum might very well see his picture in the papers, straightened his back. He couldn't bear another chat about his posture. As the gates opened to let in another high profile dignitary police forced back the crowds. Security around the Palace was extremely tight. Harling Freedom Army chatter had reached unprecedented levels in recent days and the security services were tense. Coleman's corporal had assured him however, there was nothing to be afraid of, 'If an HFA bastard runs at you, bayonet him.'

Coleman sneaked a look up the grand structure above him and wondered whether the Queen troubled herself with thoughts of terrorist attacks. The sad truth, he concluded, was that she probably did.

The Orange Room,
Queen's Official Bedroom,
Blackdonian Palace

'It's odd to think isn't it, we do all that preparation and rehearsing for six months and then it's all over in a day.'

'Well we still have to go down there and mingle.'

The Queen smiled. She spoke from the ensuite of her bedroom whilst her husband dressed in the corner. The Orange Room, the official bedroom of Her Majesty and her husband Prince Frederick within the Palace, was a simple place. The long, stately rooms with pictures of famous battles, expensive artefacts and ancient documents were grand and rather fitting for the Palace location. The Orange Room, named rather unimaginatively for the colour of its wallpaper, seemed, in contrast, like a high brow apartment. King George had detested the room, as he had often told Amelia, 'Dull little place,' he had said, 'You get too much light coming in from the roads that way.' Amelia on the other hand had embraced it, added a splash of colour and used a pinch of the surprisingly large budget to spruce it up.

'Yes, but assuming I get a biography at some point in the future,' Amelia said, 'The coronation might only be a few sentences long, if that. Just something like, "she was crowned on the 20th of June 2014 with 7,000 guests in attendance."'

'You never know,' Frederick said, 'You might get a whole chapter on the coronation.'

'Possibly,' Amelia laughed, 'All the inane details.'

Frederick finished buttoning his jacket and walked over to the ensuite. His wife was applying a few final touches of makeup. Officially this was the job of the ladies in waiting but Amelia had grown up doing her own makeup and was determined to continue on that way.

'It's real now isn't it?' he said.

Amelia turned to her husband and gave him a quick kiss on the lips, 'I'm afraid so. I thought for a while we might be able to escape,' she joked, 'But they got their act together and put that crown on me pretty quickly didn't they.'

It was real now. She'd been Queen for almost 200 days but it hadn't kicked in until that day that she was now, until her death, the leader of Afalia, the leader of 65 million people, a people still recovering from war and destruction, still dealing with violence and death in the form of the HFA, still living under the fear of a new attack from a larger enemy. It was up to her to lift their spirits but more importantly offer hope and courage.

'Do you feel ready?' Frederick asked.

'Well after doing it for this long Frederick, I think I am.'

She smiled and continued her preparations. In around ten minutes she would enter the ball room of the Palace and the celebrations would begin.

by **First Valerian Empire** » Sat Jun 21, 2014 1:52 am

Law, Justice & Mercy

Friday 20th June,
~~Blackdonian Palace,~~
~~Blackdon,Afalia~~
1745 Hours

For the past 58 days; Napoleon François Charles Joseph Capet or more formerly known as His Grace Napoleon I of Valyria had been tucked away from the public eye, under constant guard by his bodyguards and monitored by no less than a dozen world class physicians. All because a particularly attractive brunette staffer working in King's Landing wanted to ride in his sports car and he was a sucker for a good puppy dog face or atleast that's what the unofficial official story suggested.The truth would be buried like everything else that was unfavorable to the New Order in the Empire and his grace would continue on as if it never happened or attempt to do so.

The after effects of his not so tragic and nearly fatal crash still lingered about like a animated storm cloud in the Saturday morning cartoons shown to school children across the world. His normally radiant skin was pale and cold to the touch, a reflection of the state of his health; the quick stride that he known for within the palace had been replaced with a cross between a skip and a labored walk characteristic of older men and the stunning smile that charmed dozens of highborn ladies out of their wits and clothes was missing and in it's place was a weak and pained grin that only invoked sympathy and awkwardness in those who witnessed it. All in all; the youthful Emperor that had won the hearts and minds of not only Valyria but a large chunk of the world was gone and in his place was a ghost; a ghost that despite the objections of all those close to him insisted on attending Amelia's coronation not only because it was expected but because she was family and Napoleon was notably light when it came to his family tree.

''Cousin please; let us help or atleast let the physician give you some medication to ease your pain.'' cried Catherine, Napoleon's cousin.. She had insisted on tagging along to watch after the Emperor during the trip as she still didn't trust the ''Empress'' to do a sufficient job.

''No damn it.. I'll be right bloody fucked if I show up to ~~Amelia's~~ coronation higher than a ~~Florysian~~ whore or holding onto some fucking doctor like a senior fucking citizen. I am Napoleon the first and until my days are done, I refuse to behave in any manner not befitting my lineage, your lineage the lineage of our entire fucking family.Now if you want to help me go find my father's cane so we can go inside.

Catherine was taken aback by her cousins' Resistance to her attempts to help him but did as she was bidden. Ever since he woke from his coma , he had been a mess as her other cousin, Josephine, Napoleon's elder sister had warned her. She had informed her that the Emperor had always felt he had to be tougher than everyone else and bear his cross in silence or in this case, profanity. It was a detail that Josephine had neglected to mention to the newly crowned Empress,~~Laura~~, either out of spite or jealousy.

It was quite tragic that only two months after their wedding that her husband was injured so grievously and in such a scandalous fashion but if she held any secret reservations about his commitment to their union or anything similar she gave no one any clue to such.She behaved as a Empress for a lack of a better term; taking his silent abuse and attempting to console him as best she could as she did now.

''Francois, maybe she is right. Your obviously in a enormous amount of pain and allowing such a collection of leaders to see you in such a state might not be wise. Take the medication and give them your best not your worse.''

Napoleon sat in the recliner that he had occupied since arriving in Blackdon earlier that week via convoy, contemplating his next move. His doctors still considered him too weak to make the journey through the air and the six hour ride from secure cabin in central Valyria where he had been recuperating would require additional resting for the weakened Emperor..

''Fetch the doctor, mon amour''

''Thank you Francois''

''Je prie pour qu'ils tremblent''

Laura frowned at her husband. The accident had made him angry and bitter. Gone were the days of discussing literature and poetry among his inner circle; all he could talk about was traitors in Avalon and assassins from Norvenia and when he wasn't raving about a conspiracy to destroy his new order, he was sleep.

Catherine returned with Napoelon's father's cane. It was a beautifully crafted piece of blackwood with silver and gold embellishments. His father had ordered it made after his tour of Afrosia and now it had been passed on to Napoleon.

He took the cane from Catherine and rose with great difficulty to his feet. The Emperor was obviously in a great deal of pain but not once did he cry out or fall back into his chair, he bore his cross as his sister said he would, in silence.

Napoleon walked to the door, back straight and head held up high and before he opened the door and presented himself to the world once more; he turned to his companions, his wife ~~Laura,~~ his cousin Catherine and his small party of Imperial guardsmen.

''Allons-nous?''

by **Regnum Albion** » Sun Jun 22, 2014 8:43 am

The Flight of the Royals, they had dubbed it in the press. Four members of the royal family, including the reigning monarch himself, had left the Crown Commonwealth behind for three days to celebrate the crowning of a queen who would rule over a country that was once under the dominion of their family. Everyone had known that Regnum Albion and Afalia had a particularly close relationship - international co-operation, free trade, joint military action and a host of other agreements made such a fact very clear - but the willingness of the royal family to leap into the celebrations manifested a very particular aspect of the bilateral relations of the two nations. Far from a purely political act of necessity, the amicability that linked the two was rooted in personal connections, historical facts and popular desire. Accordingly, the people of Regnum Albion had leapt at a chance to fervently commemorate the coming to power of Queen Amelia as though the coronation was something that would affect them just as much as it would any true Afalian. To explain this excitement, one must look on the one hand at the very notion of constitutional monarchy which, among the regional partners, was unique to the two nations. As a political position it provided a common cause for the Crown Commonwealth and Afalia, but as a way of understanding one's duty to a country, its monarch and its rulers the shared heritage of the two certainly allowed a common understanding of the significance of the coronation to develop. On the other hand the reason for popular support was simply because of the joyousness of the occasion - a welcome event in a period of upheaval and strife within Aeneas. To see something which was both the continuation of a time-honoured tradition and a sign of progress at once was of immeasurable satisfaction to the Anglican people, and justified their interest the entire affair.

The royals who were present were not distant and oft-ignored members of the monarch's family either. Leading the delegation in his second trip to Afalia that year - and receiving much praise from the Anglican press for doing so - was His Majesty the King, William III of the House of Arturius. He had been outfitted by his tailors (and on the advice of his advisors) in the No. 1 Dress of the Royal Navy, to which he was technically Commander-in-Chief and ceremonially the Admiral of the Fleet. Such titles and the uniform they accompanied were relics of the past and bore no significance in the modern age. As a constitutional monarch William III was powerless in all political matters and held no sway over the dealings of his government or the armed forces they commanded. Nevertheless, tradition was important, and the navy-blue uniform adorned with golden thread and turned-up collars was a sign that the King was the ruler of a nation with significant military interests and enough power to back many of them up. His face told a more nuanced story, though. It was the sort of face that everyone could relate to as though it were that of a kindly uncle or gentle family friend. The eyes showed compassion and constant concern, as though the Head of State were perpetually aware of his sworn duty to protect his people. More than that, though, his warm-hearted glow had the ability to strike a more personal chord and regardless of the topic of conversation William III seemed to be able to extend genuine care to anyone he interacted with by looks alone. His face, however, clearly showed a man who had grown with a lifetime of experience behind him, and who was able to hold his own in a way that exuded wisdom and thoughtfulness. He as a man beloved by his people and appreciated by his staff, who never needed to concern themselves over his words or actions. He was, in a word, regal.

His two sons, the first and second in line for the throne, were not as quietly caring as their father. For one, neither had experienced the same level of dutiful devotion that the King had endured for decades now, and both were still in the last throws of youth. The eldest, Prince James of Anglia, was now twenty-one years old and entering his final year of university. His character around the Crown Commonwealth is that of a sportsman and, for want of a better word, a lad. At university in Port Moresby, much of his time was and still is taken up by his commitment to his college's boat club, where early-morning rowing sessions have made him a desirable catch for the ladies of Regnum Albion. They would find him most easily on the sports track, where his rowers build has made him ill-suited to certain types of athletics, but where he nonetheless exercises regularly. Unlike his father, the paternal compassion has yet to reach his eyes, and they still twinkle with the unperturbed enthusiasm of youth. That is not to say that James was not a caring man, for he had been brought up well by his parents and understood his duties to his people, but he was at a stage in his life where everything was to be seized and enjoyed. He was a man who acted fast and thought about things as he did them. He would grow out of this disposition, no doubt, but for the time being the young Prince was content to live his life with the sense of cape diem that soon escapes a faithful monarch. At this instance, therefore, his face wore a smile that was both cheeky and mischievous, and his eyes shone bright as he took in the merrymaking around him, engaged in it, and then became a maker of merriment himself.

James' younger brother by just two years was the King's second son, and thus second in line to the throne. He was Prince George of Fultonshire and was almost the opposite to his elder sibling and much more akin to his father. Aside from morning runs and leisurely activities, the younger Prince had no sporting qualifications to his name and was not so much a lad as a chap. Engrossing himself in his studies at the University of Berkeley, George had become a more thoughtful character and was often associated with his charitable causes and much more personable style. Without the pressure of the throne immediately hanging over him, there were few expectations for George to attain and he was given much more freedom than his brother, but he had still managed to capture the hearts of the nation and was consequently the most popular royal by a small margin. A large part of this was down to his personal life which was deserving of sympathy in some ways and respect in others. Because he shared that deep compassion that his father possessed, and held the fun-loving nature of his brother, but had no real political interests, Prince George was always engaged in events which actually mattered to him and invariably made the lives of those around him better, whether to a small degree or large. His manner was somewhat shy, but to those who did get to know him and who were let into his guarded emotions the affection was immediately evident. At events such as this one, this meant that though the group surrounding the Prince was sometimes small, it was always an enjoyable one to be a part of and those that had met the young royal remembered the experience fondly.

The final royal was an odd addition by some beliefs. Prince Jonathan of Glenrothes was not a member of the King's direct family, but was his nephew, the son of his brother. He shared much in common with Prince George, most notably a shy exterior surrounding his warm-hearted personality, but he was also a fellow athlete in the likeness of Prince James. His own sports were cricket and hockey so the blatant muscles were eschewed for a slender but lean frame and unlike the dark-haired Prince George and the blonde Prince James, Jonathan was a natural red-head which was most akin to a sort of Auburn. His manner was sweet but he would always be the one joining in with the conversation, never leading it. This suited him well though, for he had spent his life fulfilling that role. Fifth in line for the throne and a status as a second-tier royal meant that he was in a state of privilege but always remained overshadowed by others. Luckily, he had grown up accepting that fact and not concerning himself over it. As a result he was faultlessly gracious and never one to boast. He would take responsibility for problems but pass on the praise for successes, and he would do so quietly and with an indomitable spirit. Shy he may have been, but he was a likeable fellow and his reticence was more than likely the cause of that. At any rate, he was not interested in being the centre of attention. In this particular instance, he was here for one woman in particular, not Queen Amelia, who he admittedly was extremely happy for, but Princess Shizuno, his Mizuyukian bride-to-be and sole darling.

Accompanying the host of royals were two much more politically-aware guests. Their true characters were likely much harder to define for one was a politician of extreme skill and the other was a career diplomat whose job was often to hide the truth. The first was none other than the Prime Minister of Regnum Albion, the Lord Tweedsmuir. Unlike the genuine character of many of the royals, he seemed somehow fake. Perhaps fake is too harsh a word to describe the Prime Minister, for his sense of honour is renowned and he was noted in the press for strictly observing domestic political obligations as well as international treaties. However, one often wondered whether the extreme light-heartedness of his conversation and the near-incessent charm that he exuded was put on in any way. Certainly, he enjoyed verbosity more than most and what came off as eccentricity often hid a much more devious side to the man. Most strikingly, however, was his assuredness. Tweedsmuir had had the misfortune of succeeding a Prime Minister who was generally considered to be weak-willed and indecisive, and the Anglican people wanted something better than that. Like an Anglican Charles de Gaulle, he had gained popular support by standing up for Anglican interests, bolstering Anglican prestige and standing in the way of threats that got in the way of both of those. He was precisely what a country that had been slipping into insignificance had needed, and now he had led the Crown Commonwealth back into the fray of international politics. Anyone that could achieve that was indeed going to be a man of political cunning and a certain amount of self-assuredness, but Tweedsmuir hid it under his famous charm.

The final guest was the Anglican ambassador to Afalia, Margaret Astor. Within the diplomatic service (more officially, the Department for Diplomatic Affairs) there was of course a clearly-stated belief that all countries around the world were of equal importance and status, the only thing that could change being the Anglican focus. However, amongst the aspiring-diplomats themselves there was naturally a hierarchy of preferred postings, the inexperienced being dispatched to small, far-off places of little concern to the Crown Commonwealth other than in providing travel documents to lost tourists. The Empire, interestingly, is managed separately and has its own hierarchy which runs almost parallel to that of the diplomatic service. Thus the most prestigious position in the diplomatic service is often referred to as the 'Raj of the World', referring to the importance placed upon India in Anglican colonial affairs. At any rate, the current 'Raj of the World' - the most prestigious position for an Anglican diplomat to achieve - was the office of the ambassador of Afalia, the former dominion and now closest ally. Margaret Astor had only managed to reach such a status after thirty years of working in the Department for Diplomatic Affairs, and now she was content in her post. But she guarded it jealously and her shrewd approach to diplomacy kept her an effective and useful tool of His Majesty's Government. She was cutting and firm towards her staff and utterly direct to those she had the pleasure of dealing with. Though the name was often reserved for Heads of Government, Margaret Astor had earned the nickname 'the Iron Lady'. She completed the ensemble of Anglican guests who had so thoroughly enjoyed the coronation service, and made up a hefty contingent of the mingling international dignitaries. In this instance, she was being used more as a social guide for the royals than anything else and her words drifted quietly into the King's ear.

"Over here, Your Majesty, we have His Grace Julius, Grand Duke of Florys." The pair looked over at a fine-looking gentleman, garbed in the sort of free-spirited avant-garde formalwear that was beloved by many Anglicans but never worn as a result of strict conventions on formal attire. It was in stark contrast to the necessarily strict military uniform of the King, and was at odds with the starched white-tie and tails of the other Anglican fellows present. Only Margaret Astor, in her block-pastel skirt, blouse and jacket with matching wide-brimmed hat, could come close to the style.

"Thank you, Margaret." The monarch touched a hand gently to his ambassador's shoulder, "My memory is sufficiently jogged. I'll leave you to mingle and I'll try to do the same." He left her with a smile and a stare that caused Margaret to reflexively return the kindly gesture before remembering her place, bowing her head slightly to her sovereign, and leaving to some other part of the room. The King headed straight for the Grand Duke, his stifling uniform being noticeable from far across the room and effectively announcing his arrival to any conversation. On reaching the Grand Duke, he inclined his head forward and slightly to the right in a limp form of a bow, but otherwise remained perfectly upright. At the same time, he extended his hand out to shake that of his fellow Head of State and resorted to a very slight but warming smile accompanied by a soft-spoken greeting.

"Your Grace. It would be wrong for us not to speak on the occasion of the flourishing relations between our nations, at least while we wait for our newest Her Majesty. I understand our governments have just sent our sailors to fight together, after all."

by **Aurinsula** » Mon Jun 23, 2014 3:15 am

Aurinsula was doing fine. Aurinsula was in great shape. Aurinsula was recovering and everything was returning to normal. This was the nation's message to the world, and this official visit was the next line in the great song of national rebirth.

They were a party of three men. They were resplendent in their black tail-coats, each man's lapel bearing a silken flower with the Aurinsulan quincolour, and teal-green cordons tucked neatly under their jackets. The first man, the one leading the way, was Tang Kailing, Ambassador to Afalia. Tang hadn't been there long; he had the dubious honor of being the last foreign ambassador to present his credentials to the old King. He had been working in the Aurinsulan Embassy for 12 years, slowly ascending the ranks of the diplomatic service from secretary to counselor to minister. His accomplishments were genuine; he secured Afalian support for the famous War Gasoline Bonds and thus extended almost a trillion yuan in credit towards the war effort. His English was also impeccable, and he had somehow mastered the art of making a joke in a foreign language.

Following him was a much more distinguished person. He was Huang Shichang, Vice-President of the Republic of Aurinsula. To be Vice-President was to be high on honors and precedent, but dismally low on the scale of actual responsibility. According to international whisperings, Huang was allowed to sit in on the big meetings of national policy discussion, but nobody seemed to listen to him. He was, accordingly, a bitter and short-tempered man, one who felt that his qualifications - and they were indeed sterling, having been Governor of Chengzhou Province and Minister of the Interior - were being squandered. Thankfully for all involved, he was mono-lingual.

Keeping a respectful distance to the rear, as was only proper, was the most important person in the group. He was Yuan Weiruan, Foreign Minister. Previously the Ambassador to Regnum Albion before serving 4 years in Foreign Ministry High Command, Yuan was a genuine member of the Aurinsulan "inner circle" - the 30 or so people who, accordingly to myth, decided the whole course of the government. He was well-travelled, erudite, spoke English and Mizuyuki-go, and was in all ways a deeply shrewd operator. The Presidents and Premiers of the world found him to be a deeply worthy counterpart.

"And may I introduce," said Tang in his own language, "the Prime Minister of Regnum Albion, Mr. Tweedsmuir. Prime Minister," he said in English, "may I introduce His Excellency, Vice-President Huang Shichang," who gave a little bow, "and of course the Foreign Minister, Yuan Weiruan, whom I believe you know already?"

"We have met many times before," said Yuan in English (to the palpable frustration of the Vice-President). "I'm glad to see you again, Prime Minister; I hope you are well." Relations between Aurinsula and Regnum Albion were, at present, not the greatest. The two had just been allies in the battle against the Rhenish, but that didn't change the fact that their forces were staring each other down across across a long and well-armed border, and certain differences in opinion had arisen as to what to do with their newly-surrendered adversaries.

"The Premier sends his regards." As head of the Executive Yuan, the Premier was probably the single most powerful man in Aurinsula, and a first-rate "peer of the realm" in Aurinsula's informal decision-making processes. He was thus one of the chief powers "behind the scenes." "I hope," he continued, "we will get a chance to talk at some point."

by **Afalia** » Mon Jun 23, 2014 9:42 am

It was a rare occurrence for multiple prime ministers and former prime ministers to be present in the same room. Although there was no great hatred between the two living former prime ministers, tory Nicholas Christie and labour Patrick Collins, the premiership wasn't something former members met up and had drinks over. Now Christie and Collins stood along with Christopher Kelly, the current but soon to be former Prime Minister who's retirement party was on Tuesday and who would be standing down on Wednesday lunchtime.

'You sad Christopher?'

Kelly smiled. Nicholas Christie who had dominated the late 80s and 90s in Afalian politics had raised Christopher Kelly as his protege. Despite him assuming the highest office in the land in 2003, Christie had continued to call the prime minister by his Christian name when they met.

'A bit, but I'm looking forward to retirement.'

'You're leaving it in good hands Kelly.'

Patrick Collins, Kelly's predecessor and opponent, smiled and nodded. The two had been political enemies and still were, to some extent. Collins' government had collapsed after he lost grip on a scandal involving his brother. The vote of no confidence which had eventually brought it down had been championed by Kelly and it was his political skills which had led to the loss of backing from Collin's Traditional Aafaliiaan coalition partners which sealed the deal. Despite their troublesome relationship since Collins had left the leadership in 2007 the two had got on surprisingly well.

'I hope so. She's young but then weren't well back then.'

'Don't talk too soon Christopher, you still have four more days of this and who knows what can happen?' Christie said.

'Yes, don't remind me. I feel bad about the Harling situation though,' Kelly remarked.

'Every ministry is abandoned,' Collins said and Christie nodded in agreement.

'True, you never get everything done, you hardly get anything done.'

'You had 13 years Mr. Christie,' Collins bemused, 'I only had 3.'

'Well you didn't have to call an early election,' Christie rebuked.

The two laughed to themselves and Kelly rolled his eyes. He'd be like them soon, a political elder. It was terrible, but honourable position.

'I hope I can trust you two to behave,' Kelly said. He smiled and patted them on the backs, 'I'll speak to you later. In the meantime I believe I still have some sort of power round here and so do the other people in this room.'

'Have fun mingling,' Christie said.

Kelly shook his head as he walked away into the crowds, retirement probably wouldn't be so bad.

by **Virana** » Mon Jun 23, 2014 11:21 am

Ball Room
Blackdonian Palace
Afalia

As President Alex Vaziri entered the hall, he could not help but gasp in brief bewilderment at the monarchial formalities and preparations that surrounded him. His libertarian side seemed utterly out of place, philosophically averse to the ornate characteristics forming the fabric of nobility. Emmerian politics had always been somewhat anti-monarchial since the centuries-past independence from the Belfrasian kingdom. If there were the slightest threat that a monarchy would rise in Emmeria, Vaziri would stand at his door, his shotgun in hand, with a pioneer hat, a bandanna around his neck patterned as the Emmerian flag, and a shirt that read the nation's traditional motto: "Rebellion to tyrants is obedience to God."

Unlike many of those in the room, Vaziri was a self-made man. Who would have guessed that an aspiring lawyer who took two weeks off college mourning the death of his bartender father would soon become president? That a student of above-average intelligence, who spent the first year out of law school nursing a gravely ill widowed mother and raising his two younger siblings, all while working at a local gas station, would soon lead the country? Even later when he was a successful small businessman, whose modest local law firm solidified his position in the middle class, he would have laughed if someone had told him that he would soon be his nation's chief executive.

At the same time, Vaziri admired the deep-rooted tradition characteristic of monarchies. After all, he was a conservative; and while Emmerian politics, even conservatism, had never typically incorporated monarchial concepts, the sheer historic, time-honored traditionalism of nobility fascinated him. He almost gaped at the brilliant decorations, the high-rising pillars of the ball room, the sheer attention to detail, and the lavishness these represented. From a glance it was easy to ascertain this was a historic event whose significance meant a lot to people.

Vaziri was no stranger to monarchial customs. He was close friends with King James of Belfras and Emperor Aaron III of New Belhavia, symbolic heads of state of two of his nation's closest allies. Vaziri understood the nature of his relationship to them extensively: as a head of state himself, he was their equal, and while he would show utmost respect and dignity to his counterparts, he would not bow down to them—both due to his own political convictions and his own merit as the leader of his country.

Back on the plane, one of his Secret Service security guards had asked, "Mr. President, we're supposed to like bow to the queen and call her 'Your Majesty,' right?"

Vaziri recalled looking at the guard and squinting his eyes. "Your charter," he had begun, referencing the Emmerian constitution, "states that no title of nobility shall be granted."

The guard had looked at him confusingly. "But… we aren't in the United Republic."

"The same rules apply," he had responded. Seeing the guard still flustered, he continued. "Now, of course, you treat them with utmost respect, and maybe even refer to them as 'Your Majesty' as a display of that respect." He looked around to the rest of his staff in the plane at the time, all of which were listening tentatively. "But I'd strongly prefer if none of you bowed to the queen or any other noble. You and I are their equals. No title of nobility shall be granted by the United Republic of Emmeria."

Of course, much of his staff—including Secretary of Defense Zain Arian, who had accompanied him—understood these principles fairly well, especially throughout previous state visits and through their own last-minute research. But to others, such as his wife and some lower staff members who had not yet visited a kingdom, this had been new news.

Vaziri himself wore nothing special. He had always disliked the militaristic extravagance of leaders who wore service dress uniforms. Instead, he wore a black suit with a deep red tie, matching the rich red of his wife's dress. The First Lady, Farah, was symbolically his proudest accomplishment, a woman who, even in her mid-40s, seemed to retain the beauty of her younger years. The two had been a reasonably happy couple throughout their 18-year marriage, with two beautiful children back home.

Alongside them was former president Washington Hayes. An African-Emmerian whose vice presidency skyrocketed him to the nation's top position for several months following the 2013 assassination of late President Luis Castilla (who had been president during the Titianician War in Afalia). Hayes, a longtime member of Congress and widely regarded as a liberal, had lost the presidential election in November 2013, his stance of fiscal liberalism and his Congressional background as a politician in Oured contrasting with Vaziri's conservative neoliberal economics and more localized, state-centric governorship. Hayes, as with both Castilla and Vaziri, had been a longtime supporter of increased cooperation between the United Republic and Afalia; indeed, Hayes had visited Afalia on state visits during his time as president and knew the prime minister fairly well.

Hayes walked with his wife on one side and United Republic ambassador Jake Harding on the other. Harding was Emmeria's chief diplomat in Afalia, working closely with the Royal Family, the elected government, and various other contacts throughout the country. Under Vaziri, diplomats had adopted a model focused on extensive involvement in communities across their assigned nations, spending weeks at a time away from the embassy building itself. It was, in fact, very rare for Harding to be at the embassy at all; when he wasn't coordinating diplomatic commerce between Oured and Blackdon, he was out sponsoring a small business conference or planning a charity auction or donating books to a local school. Harding himself wasn't the most skilled diplomat; while he had "people skills," he lacked an international relations background. He, like many Emmerian ambassadors, was a celebrity, geared towards winning sponsorships and support rather than conducting actual diplomacy. His diplomatic staff had significant autonomy in that respect; most of them had majored in international relations and maintained a deep understanding of the processes and forces concerning each aspect of foreign policy. They were the analysts and facilitators; he was the popular face of the embassy who signed off on their strategies. With that exposure he had gained much experience with international relations, but, while he enjoyed his position, he was still unpolished for a diplomat.

With them was Secretary of Defense Zain Arian. He didn't truly understand why the president had asked him to come; while an appointed head of a federal department, Secretary Arian generally disliked politics and diplomacy. He was a very down-to-earth, matter-of-fact man, a former military general. The Secretary of State, Alia Kouri, was unable to attend; she was on a separate visit to a different country. That was, Arian thought, the most likely reason Vaziri had asked him to come—behind the state secretary, Arian was the most important member of Cabinet and, for all intents and purposes, Cabinet's secondary facilitator of foreign affairs.

And so they stepped through the ball room, a group of Emmerians surrounded by dignitaries and leaders (and security guards, of course). They broke into groups, with Secret Service guards subtly following each, mingling and conversing with the Afalian nobles and the distinguished people that were spread throughout the ball room.

Blackdon military base
Afalia

The festive atmosphere of the ball room served as merely an artificial veil over the tension of the situation. Sure, a queen was to earn her crown that night. But what many had negligently buried in the back of their minds amidst the convivialities—everyone except the various security guards that stalked the room, their eyes constantly peeled—was that this country, though renowned for peacefulness and tranquility, was in a state of insurgency, the paramilitary Harling Freedom Army vigilantly watching the occasion and possibly, as predicted by Afalian, Emmerian, and everybody else's security forces, preparing an attack aimed at the leaders of the free world.

Just miles away from the palace at the military base, twelve Emmerian soldiers sat in the mess hall in full uniform wearing all their equipment, as if they were preparing to embark on a major operation. They wore no unit patches or distinctive insignia, only Emmerian flags; they mingled amongst those around them, but kept their backgrounds opaque; they wore and used equipment whose cost and sophistication would make military logistics officials upset; they only described themselves as "Emmerian special forces" who were in Afalia to "aid in establishing preventative security measures in preparation for the coronation." The reversed flag patches they wore on their shoulder and chest made their mission obvious: they were to protect the president of the United Republic and the rest of the team.

Afalia was no stranger to Emmerian special operations. In 2013, Titianician dictator Jack Lazin had invaded the peaceful Afalia in what became known as the Titianician War. During the conflict, U.R. naval special forces launched a daring submarine raid that ended in the renowned capture of Lazin in what is oft considered the most successful Emmerian special operation of their golden age of the past decade.

The SEALs who caught Lazin were honorable men who had received elite training. But the twelve men in Blackdon today were different. They were recruited from the special forces branches of the United Republic Army, receiving notoriously rigorous training that likely surpassed that of traditional special forces. They were part of the Army's Combat Applications Group (CAG), which was one of the Special Mission Units in the country's elite Joint Special Operations Command. These particular twelve formed a team handpicked for the mission: protecting the Emmerian president. Of course, should the president come under attack in an area dense with foreign dignitaries, working with foreign security forces in eliminating any attackers would become their secondary mission. Extensively trained in hostage rescue and unconventional warfare, the two most complex types of operations perhaps in existence, they were the Emmerian president's ace-in-the-hole.

[OOC: If anyone wants to start talking to Vaziri or anyone else in the period before the queen arrives, feel free!]

by **Lyncanestria** » Tue Jun 24, 2014 12:53 am

Blackdonian Palace
BLACKDON, AFALIA
20 JUN 2014, 17:51

Walking into the beautifully ornamented ample room which was the Grand Ballroom of the Blackdonian Palace, the Lyncanestrian monarch couldn't stop repeating the same phrase over and over in his head. Well this is bloody brilliant, he inwardly cursed at himself. There he was surrounded by thirteen other guests no less that made up the grand entourage of the Lyncanestrian Emperor. He scanned the room, going from left to right trying to keep his composure as he felt hundreds of pairs of eyes affixed themselves on his oversized party. Nope, he thought to himself, I don't know a single one of these people. I bet this first impression is absolutely fabulous. Next time there's an official event I'm invited to they might just ask me to bring a circus troupe while I'm at it bringing unnecessarily large parties to events. Why did you ever allow your entire family to come? Well, in all technicality it wasn't his whole family; his youngest sister Christina Diana couldn't make it given that she was off in another realm busy with matters of being consort and also, his other siblings hadn't come alone; they had all brought their spouses. But nonetheless the Lyncanestrian group was trice as big as any other nation's party which made him feel uncomfortable. Now they'll be thinking that just because I'm related to the Afalian Queen I get special treatment now. I'm the one that can completely disregard self-control and barge in here with a dozen others while the rest confine themselves to two or three dignitaries even when they're probably closer to Afalia than us.

Throughout the last war Afalia found itself in, Lyncanestrian aid was no more than a couple of speeches by the then-Emperor William III, who talked about 'bravery and steadfastness in the face of evil'. But those were just empty words, thought the new Emperor to himself. The issue of intervention in Afalia was one that he had supported vehemently but his father had rejected it. Now sitting here amongst those that did stand by Afalia in her hour of need and those allies that Afalia has had a real connection with, he felt even worse.

All in all, the Emperor felt so out of place.

But putting on a forced half-hearted smile, he made his way to the right of the room to sit at some chairs which outlined the perimeter of the room, clearly standing at the room's main doorway wasn't doing much to help the gazes of the other dignitaries go back to minding their own business. Making his way to the edge of the ballroom, his wife at his side and his herd of Lyncanestrian royals trailing behind, he began feeling a burning sensation crawl up slowly from his back and up his neck. His wife clearly understood that something was bothering him, and taking the hint from the taint of pinkish-reddish colouration that began to show itself upon the Emperor's face, she knew he was embarrassed about something. 'Sam,' she began, 'are you alright?' Finally reaching a chair and helping her down, the Emperor replied, himself taking the seat next to her, clearing his throat before beginning.

'Yeah, of course,' he started. Clearly she wasn't buying it and his body's unfortunate case of severe blushing was more than enough to give her the answer when the Emperor wouldn't give it to her.

'It's the size of our group, isn't it? You think that they'll see it as too much, don't you?' He looked into her eyes as she also fixed her own upon his worried expression. They knew each other so well she hadn't need for a verbal answer; his look itself was answer enough. 'Don't think to much about it,' she began to console him. She knew how much stress this was for him; he would always talk about how important a first impression was and on top of that, this was after all his first foreign official visit after his own coronation which occurred in March. She finished off her consolation with a couple of You're probably overthinking this and I'm certain they're not holding this against you before shifting her eyes down from his face.

She let out a small chuckle as she took in the funny scene of her husband's bowtie almost a good forty-five degrees from the original horizontal position it should be in. Clearly the Emperor had started having second thoughts about wearing a tuxedo today. Even though wearing a military uniform was probably his favourite thing about official occasions, he had opted for not wearing his dress uniform today as he felt it would have been too cliché in such a royal moment such as this. As the Empress adjusted her husband's bowtie to the correct position once again, he looked around the room, verifying his premonition as he saw a sea of military uniforms complete with schools of flashy medals and epaulettes swimming about. Even his brother, Prince-Imperial John, and a brother-in-law of his, Duke Rupert of Durmond, were sporting their traditional Lyncanestrian blue and cream-white military garbs.

And as he made his way across the room looking closely at each uniform comparing them to his country's own, his eyes finally found the Queen. Standing atop the elevated high end of the ballroom, he stood, looking behind him and noticing his entourage had done the same. Well, his entourage save his two children, who seemed to be completely engrossed in a conversation, most likely about how boring it is to have to be an adult and do 'official business'. He got their attention and with a stern look mouthed the words 'Stand up for Uncle Fred', referencing Prince Frederick, the consort of Afalia. In all technicality, he wasn't their uncle, but first-cousin once removed, but the Emperor, and all his siblings as well for that matter (why else would they be here?) had grown close to their cousin, who being an only child found comfort in his extended family's hospitality and so the Emperor Samuel had kind of become that elder brother figure that Frederick never had.

Finally after the Queen had finished her grand entrance, alongside his cousin the Prince Frederick, Samuel began to make his way from the side of the Grand Ballroom and into the centre as he nudged through the crowd of people trying to get to the recently-crowned Queen.

OOC: Afalia, I don't know when you're going to introduce the Queen or whether you planned for it to be soon or later. I went ahead and included it I don't know how you planned to make her entrance really so I could edit that later. Also, if anyone wants to make small talk with any one of the Lyncanestrian visitors I'd be happy to continue on a conversation.

by **Libraria and Ausitoria** » Tue Jun 24, 2014 1:36 pm

Blackdonian Palace
BLACKDON, AFALIA
20 JUN 2014, 17:53

Having enjoyed a brief but enjoyable tour from the cathedral around the city - Parliament Green, the Dockyards, and the City - enough for them to pretend that they had started to get a feel for the place - the Ausitorian guests arrived in a splendid old-fashioned turquoise car that matched the Foreign Secretary's exotic turquoise tunic and singularly failed to match the otherwise magnificent red suit of the Cabinet Secretary or the splendid blue suit of the Prime Minister, both of whom were, for a change, determined not to be outdone by the Foreign Secretary, who had never taken the slightest notice of conventional dress sense.

The result, they knew, was an entrance. A sight to make the whole world stare: a nation that now didn't care. With power comes confidence, and with confidence comes exuberance, and with exuberance comes decadence, and the three men who had been catapulted into running the Ausitorian government didn't mind being decadent, particularly when attending coronations, which, despite their relatively humble origins, they had all grown perfectly comfortable with since they nowadays tended to outrank most of the other people in the room. They had been in the back row in everything to do with Alfalia, and indeed, anything to do with anything to do with Alfalia, but it was time to make up for lost time, and this was a heaven sent opportunity to do so without the media attention at official visits or the vast expense of military support or the tedious pen-work of diplomatic treaties.

And so, looking around the ballroom, they made their entrance in style, taking in their bearings with the perfect pose of casual politeness as they commented knowledgeably on matters of architecture (lovely pillars etc) and immediately started comparing it with their own palaces (perhaps in need of a little more tracery and definition, did the Prime Minister remember that lovely composite order in the Winter Palace etc). They noticed - without seeming too - the Lyncanestrian monarch, and realized with mild horror - without a shadow flickering across their eyes - that their own entourage of four anonymous aides who were blending in like the best sort of valets didn't quite seem to match up to their occasion. The Ausitorian record, they knew, had been three hundred civil servants for a single summit, and they now felt that it was rather a pity that they hadn't tried something on that sort of scale, and the Cabinet Secretary broke away from the conversation about statues and spent two seconds gazing enviously in the direction of the Emperor Samuel, before the Foreign Secretary caught his eye and immediately distracted him by betting him a hundred dollars that he could spot more Republicans present.

There were several games in the arsenal of the Ausitorian gentleman-at-ease, which all of them had practised to perfection. The first was the get-to-the-nibbles-first game, whereby the Ausitorian gentlemen would race for the nibbles. If their eagerness to get there was noticed by anyone, then they were immediately out; so the game was very effective at training budding diplomats to learn how to move elegantly and gracefully.

The second game was the spot-the-republicans game: those poor fools couldn't help looking a little overwhelmed and out of place at these events, as though they were wondering what to do. Obviously they should try to get the hang of the first game.

The third game was the comment-on-the-architecture-without-looking game: to stare at your surroundings suggested you were unused to them. But to comment off-handedly on them without looking at them meant that you knew all about them and took them all for granted. It was another useful game for training diplomats.

These three games, examples of many more that various gentlemen-at-ease had invented, where just the sorts of things that were needed to keep you awake during these evenings, and to look as though you were in charge of the place more than it was in charge of you.

The Cabinet Secretary smiled back and refused the offer - wisely, because the Foreign Secretary immediately picked out half of the guards, which was hardly fair, and then proceeded to pick out the President of Emmeria by his name. Both the Cabinet Secretary and the Prime Minister knew that the Foreign Secretary wanted to speak with this particular President, and he didn't seem to be chatting to anybody, so it was evidently time to start a round of the fourth game up his sleeve: the graceful maneouvers game.

Everybody, even the most brazen commoner, should know not to march purposefully around the ballroom as though you owned the place when you didn't. These Ausitorians were not brazen commoners, and so, with studied grace and the gentlest inclination of his head, the Foreign Secretary and entourage in tow meandered along the floor with an animating discussion on the coronation music and musical registration, taking the greatest care not to appear to look in the direction of the Emmerian President until they got within speaking distance, whereupon the Foreign Secretary gently pirouetted around, and, with a short graceful bow to President Alex Vaziri, spoke in flowing formal style:

"Your Excellency, may I beg leave to introduce the Rt. Hon Sir Henry Taylor, Prime Minister of Libraria and Ausitoria; Lord Arnold Demarque, Cabinet Secretary; and perhaps even myself, Archduke Henry Terefort, Foreign Secretary?"

It was always best to be polite.

by **Virana** » Tue Jun 24, 2014 8:55 pm

Libraria and Ausitoria wrote:Blackdonian Palace
BLACKDON, AFALIA
20 JUN 2014, 17:53

Having enjoyed a brief but enjoyable tour from the cathedral around the city - Parliament Green, the Dockyards, and the City - enough for them to pretend that they had started to get a feel for the place - the Ausitorian guests arrived in a splendid old-fashioned turquoise car that matched the Foreign Secretary's exotic turquoise tunic and singularly failed to match the otherwise magnificent red suit of the Cabinet Secretary or the splendid blue suit of the Prime Minister, both of whom were, for a change, determined not to be outdone by the Foreign Secretary, who had never taken the slightest notice of conventional dress sense.

The result, they knew, was an entrance. A sight to make the whole world stare: a nation that now didn't care. With power comes confidence, and with confidence comes exuberance, and with exuberance comes decadence, and the three men who had been catapulted into running the Ausitorian government didn't mind being decadent, particularly when attending coronations, which, despite their relatively humble origins, they had all grown perfectly comfortable with since they nowadays tended to outrank most of the other people in the room. They had been in the back row in everything to do with Alfalia, and indeed, anything to do with anything to do with Alfalia, but it was time to make up for lost time, and this was a heaven sent opportunity to do so without the media attention at official visits or the vast expense of military support or the tedious pen-work of diplomatic treaties.

And so, looking around the ballroom, they made their entrance in style, taking in their bearings with the perfect pose of casual politeness as they commented knowledgeably on matters of architecture (lovely pillars etc) and immediately started comparing it with their own palaces (perhaps in need of a little more tracery and definition, did the Prime Minister remember that lovely composite order in the Winter Palace etc). They noticed - without seeming too - the Lyncanestrian monarch, and realized with mild horror - without a shadow flickering across their eyes - that their own entourage of four anonymous aides who were blending in like the best sort of valets didn't quite seem to match up to their occasion. The Ausitorian record, they knew, had been three hundred civil servants for a single summit, and they now felt that it was rather a pity that they hadn't tried something on that sort of scale, and the Cabinet Secretary broke away from the conversation about statues and spent two seconds gazing enviously in the direction of the Emperor Samuel, before the Foreign Secretary caught his eye and immediately distracted him by betting him a hundred dollars that he could spot more Republicans present.

There were several games in the arsenal of the Ausitorian gentleman-at-ease, which all of them had practised to perfection. The first was the get-to-the-nibbles-first game, whereby the Ausitorian gentlemen would race for the nibbles. If their eagerness to get there was noticed by anyone, then they were immediately out; so the game was very effective at training budding diplomats to learn how to move elegantly and gracefully.

The second game was the spot-the-republicans game: those poor fools couldn't help looking a little overwhelmed and out of place at these events, as though they were wondering what to do. Obviously they should try to get the hang of the first game.

The third game was the comment-on-the-architecture-without-looking game: to stare at your surroundings suggested you were unused to them. But to comment off-handedly on them without looking at them meant that you knew all about them and took them all for granted. It was another useful game for training diplomats.

These three games, examples of many more that various gentlemen-at-ease had invented, where just the sorts of things that were needed to keep you awake during these evenings, and to look as though you were in charge of the place more than it was in charge of you.

The Cabinet Secretary smiled back and refused the offer - wisely, because the Foreign Secretary immediately picked out half of the guards, which was hardly fair, and then proceeded to pick out the President of Emmeria by his name. Both the Cabinet Secretary and the Prime Minister knew that the Foreign Secretary wanted to speak with this particular President, and he didn't seem to be chatting to anybody, so it was evidently time to start a round of the fourth game up his sleeve: the graceful maneouvers game.

Everybody, even the most brazen commoner, should know not to march purposefully around the ballroom as though you owned the place when you didn't. These Ausitorians were not brazen commoners, and so, with studied grace and the gentlest inclination of his head, the Foreign Secretary and entourage in tow meandered along the floor with an animating discussion on the coronation music and musical registration, taking the greatest care not to appear to look in the direction of the Emmerian President until they got within speaking distance, whereupon the Foreign Secretary gently pirouetted around, and, with a short graceful bow to President Alex Vaziri, spoke in flowing formal style:

"Your Excellency, may I beg leave to introduce the Rt. Hon Sir Henry Taylor, Prime Minister of Libraria and Ausitoria; Lord Arnold Demarque, Cabinet Secretary; and perhaps even myself, Archduke Henry Terefort, Foreign Secretary?"

It was always best to be polite.

Blackdonian Palace
Blackdon, Kingdom of Afalia

President Vaziri, with his wife Farah, stood near the edge of the room, slowly drinking wine and absorbing the festive occasion.

"You know, some of these people care way too much about how they look," Vaziri commented, looking around at the ball room. "Like that guy over there," he announced, pointing at one of the men in the room wearing a military uniform covered in medals. "I guarantee you he's probably never been in combat. And that guy," he said, pointing out the Lycanestrian emperor. "He's blushing, poor kid. Seriously, people should stop caring so much about how they look."

Farah grabbed his arms and turned him towards her. "You should care," she said, adjusting his deep red tie. "I mean, you're President of the United Republic. You're probably the most powerful and influential person here." She hugged him. "Oh, you know, you really should've worn that bow tie and tux instead."

"Tux? What would a president look like wearing a tux?" he said back playfully.

"See? You do care." She paused, stepping back to look at how his tie matched the shining white shirt and vivid black suit. "And that's probably the most expensive suit of anybody here anyways."

"Yeah, only because I'm president. Not like those metal-covered egotists pretending they were soldiers." Military service meant a lot to Vaziri. His father, who had died while Vaziri was in college, was a sergeant in the Marine Corps. His grandfather was also a marine. Vaziri himself, being the smartest child in his family, opted to go into law instead, attending the nation's prestigious Northwestern University; his brother, however, had become an Air Force officer pursuing an aerospace degree, and was currently stationed in an Emmerian base in allied Belfras. Vaziri's family had a deep-rooted history of military service, and, with a far-reaching understanding of what a military uniform meant to each serviceman and woman, he felt very strongly about that. Farah, a doctor from a very liberal family, just wouldn't understand, so he turned his short rant into a joke. "They look like they're doing C3PO cosplay." His wife gave out a short giggle. As the music in the ball room transitioned to a slow and romantic song, he slid his arms around her waist, and she silently embraced him and brought him close.

At that moment, one of the two Secret Service body guards who had been unintrusively idling nearby tapped Vaziri on the shoulder. He whispered in his ear, "Um, sorry to bother, Mr. President, but Sutadoatzu just announced they're blockading Yoshiwa."

Instantly, Vaziri broke off from Farah (as she viciously scowled in disappointment). He turned to the guard. "They what?"

"They... they announced that they're dispatching a fleet to blockade Yoshiwa," the guard responded.

"Why?"

"Umm, one sec," the guard said, pulling out his phone. "Here's the news report... apparently to 'unite orientals across the region.'"

"What the hell?" Vaziri said. This was disappointing news to him, and he picked up his wine glass and swallowed it all. Yoshiwa was an island chain in the center of the Pardes region that served as a special administrative district under one of the U.R.'s closest allies, the Western Confederacy. Sutadoatzu was a nation that hadn't made much noise in Pardes geopolitically—likely because the nation was located on the far opposite side of the region and had been fairly non-interventionist during several regional crises over the past few years—but the sheer suddenness of the move, the complete lack of escalation or even a previous clue of the potentiality for such an action, was what Vaziri was worried about. The Western Confederacy and United Republic were allies under a mutual security pact, and large numbers of U.R. and allied military forces were based on the Yoshiwan archipelago, so this matter was a direct concern for Vaziri. And he wasn't home to deal with it—instead drinking wine at a coronation (and, perhaps, underdressed for it as well).

It is perhaps this reason why, when he was approached by members of the Ausitorian government, he seemed lost in thought with an unmistakeable frown on his face.

"Your Excellency, may I beg leave to introduce the Rt. Hon Sir Henry Taylor, Prime Minister of Libraria and Ausitoria; Lord Arnold Demarque, Cabinet Secretary; and perhaps even myself, Archduke Henry Terefort, Foreign Secretary?" Terefort said with a bow.

Vaziri quickly smiled. "Pleasure to meet you, Foreign Secretary, Cabinet Secretary, Prime Minister." He gave a respectful nod to each and put out his hand to shake. "President Vaziri, but please, call me Alex. And this is my wife Farah."

"Pleased to meet you, gentlemen," she said courteously, also nodding and shaking hands, though still visibly frustrated.

Vaziri had, admittedly, been surprised by the bow and "Your Excellency" title. Custom dictated nothing more than a respectful shake of hands was required to greet an Emmerian president, and only the style "Mr. President" was custom for referring to him. The title "His Excellency," while adopted by some U.R. states to refer to their governors, had largely fallen out of practice in the United Republic, replaced primarily by the style "the Honorable," for virtually all elected officials.

by **McNernia** » Wed Jun 25, 2014 7:37 pm

Blackdon,Alfia
Royal Palace

The Mcnernians arrived via Motorcade as was the custom, the Prime Minister and the brother of the King and the Foreign Minister. This was a business trip due to the nature of other delegations that would be present on this occasion in the fine city of Blackdon as the celebration of the coronation of Amelia was over and now the Festivities would begin, both officials wore the usual black tie expected of these events, the Royal present on Mcnernias behalf was HRH. Prince Fredrick, a Air Force pilot with years of experience flying for the Royal Rhodanian Air Force and the MRAF.

The Prime Minister was a shortish man in his fifties with glasses and grey hair, his suit was immaculate as was the custom for the events of this major magnitude and well the first phase of business was for him and the Prince to pay their respects to the queen. Looking around the room he could see the King of Regenum Albion and the President of Emmeria and the Prime Minister of Regenum Albion. As MD-6 had said.

by **Afalia** » Thu Jun 26, 2014 3:47 am

'Are you ready Your Majesty?'

The Queen nodded, 'I feel rather bad about interrupting their conversations though.'

'I'm sure they can deal with it ma'am, if not, they'll have to learn.'

The cynical and dry humour of Spencer, Amelia's private secretary, made her smile in embarrassment. His manners and persona, whilst entertaining, were better suited to 19th century colonial administrators than the modern day. He was a symbol of the old, a rather welcomed continuity in the brave new post-war world which Afalia was struggling to get a grip on every day. With the Queen's nod Spencer made his way out behind the curtains of the grand elevated steps leading down into the ballroom. With Frederick at her side Amelia stepped forward onto the platform of the stairs.

Down below the assorted guests of each invited nation were mingling, some awkwardly, some more confidently. It was a mish mash of cultures from across what could be considered Afalia's allies. Whilst most of the guests were speaking English as a common form of communication Amelia picked up a bit of French and a few other languages floating upwards.

'Ma'am?' Spencer asked again.

'Go on,' she replied, gritting her teeth ever so slightly.

Spencer cleared his throat and signalled to a royal trumpet bearer before shouting, 'Pray silence for Her Majesty the Queen!'

The collection of trumpets in the corner responded with the royal anthem and the guests below, or at least most of them, dutifully sang along, again. Amelia stood dead still, unable to sing the anthem, simply looking across at the crowd's and trying to appear happy without giving away the embarrassment she felt at moments like these.

'Three cheers for Her Majesty the Queen. Hip hip, hooray!'

Once again the crowd dutifully cheered hooray three times before Amelia was finally allowed to walk down the steps and into the crowds below. She smiled thankfully, glad to get the worst of the pomp over and done with. From the corner of her eye the Prime Minister politely made his way through the other invitees to be by Amelia's side, the older father figure to the young monarch.

'Your Majesty,' Kelly said and gave a deep bow, 'Congratulations on your Coronation. I hope this is the start of a wonderful reign.' He turned slightly to face Prince Frederick and gave a bow once more, 'Your Royal Highness, congratulations to you also.'

Kelly made sure he had said the correct titles of the two Royals just loud enough that those around him could hear. Whilst he assumed that most of the guests would be versed in the proper forms of address and etiquette when meeting the Queen he did not want to embarrass any who might have forgotten.

'Prime Minister,' the Queen said, 'Thank you very much. I trust you are enjoying yourself..'

'Very much so ma'am, I must confess large parties like this aren't usually my sort of thing but on this occasion, I've made an exception.'

'Very good Prime Minister. Now I believe it is time that I greet some of my guests.'

The Prime Minister dutifully bowed his head and took two steps backwards, still facing the Queen, to be slightly behind her, whilst she and her husband began the process of saying hello to all of the guests.

by **McNernia** » Thu Jun 26, 2014 6:49 pm

The Mcnernian Prince was the one who was detailed to meet the queen, all three Mcnernia s roused a hearty cheer with Fredrick adding, "God Keep your Majesty." To himself, Alfia was in the crosshairs of major forces and well she would need a strong sort of queen to help guide the people past all sorts of dangerous problems that would no doubt Em,ergs over the coming months and years as the nation of Alfia would be going to war from the latest MD-6 assessments with the Papal Republic of Rodarion.

The Prince was all smiles for the Queen with his uniform decorated with the Order of St Erin and a Kings Flying Medal, he was a young man with brown hair and dark eyes like all the Macnarin brothers. He held his cap under one arm. When his turn came he gave a polite bow. "I am Prince Fredrick Duke of Tyrone, my dear HRM Emilion IV brother sends his Congratulations Your Majesty on your coronation."

by **Virana** » Thu Jun 26, 2014 9:34 pm

Blackdonian Palace
Blackdon, Kingdom of Afalia

It was no unusual day for former President Washington D. Hayes, an African-Emmerian man in his late 50s. Hayes had visited Afalia during his time as president and had worked closely with the late King George I. In those days, it had been a turbulent period in international affairs as heads of state were figuratively dropping like flies. For Hayes, everything changed after the assassination of President Luis Castilla, a president renowned for his jingoistic Castilla Doctrine (that led to less action and more angrily written letters). The gunshot assassination, which transpired as Castilla gave a speech in a foreign country, sent shockwaves throughout Emmeria and the world. Those unforgettable, gut-wrenching images: an untouchable leader jerking back as a sniper bullet sliced clean through his head; a man of peace lying on the stage, surrounded by a pool of blood, as faceless, suited men yelled unintelligible words while surrounding him with their weapons drawn; an entire nation of red, white, and blue banners rippling in the wind at half-staff as a flurry of tempestuous emotions of sadness, anger, and, in some cases, even (not-so-obvious) delight virulently flowed through each mind.

The investigation into Castilla's death had led to more controversy. The Congressional commission assigned to investigating the killing accused the Secret Service of gross negligence in conducting its duties of protecting the president. News of the nation's Joint Intelligence Agency, the foreign intelligence service, burning thousands of documents the day before the arrival of Congressional investigators was painted across every newspaper. Senior members of the commission itself were accused of deliberately delaying the investigation. A commission whistleblower (who had fled the country) revealed the presence of documents the commission had discovered unveiling a gargantuan mass domestic surveillance program. This unrest fueled a growing distrust of the federal government among the Emmerian people (distrust that was, not coincidentally, capitalized upon by the Federalist frontrunner, then-Governor Alex Vaziri, for the 2013 presidential election). Conspiracy theories arose across the media as Hayes, who had been Castilla's vice president, was sworn in. Some blamed the Anti-Communism Alliance (ACA), a collection of nations with whom the Castilla administration consistently held tensions with in the months leading up to his death. Others claimed the rapidly growing intelligence community, led by the JIA (which had been transformed significantly under Castilla), was responsible; they, indeed, pointed at the intelligence community's secretive mass surveillance efforts as evidence that it was prone to violating laws. Yet others said the killing was a blatant power grab by Hayes—an allegation Hayes vehemently denied and, frankly, was disgusted to hear.

It was safe to say that if Emmeria as a country was analyzed over the past decade, that fateful day was the dividing point. It turned a nation deeply patriotic towards their government into a scarred people, whose trust had been violated and who largely interpreted their opposition to the government their most fiercely patriotic quality. The deep-rooted libertarian culture that had become a secondary factor in Emmerian politics for countless decades found sudden renewal, and not an unforeseeable one, as revelations of mass surveillance, Castilla-era tax scandals, and corruption deep within both the executive-branch intelligence community and legislative-branch investigation committees all dotted the media. Hayes had himself construed Castilla's unfortunate legacy as the end of a great era, an era he promised to continue during his unsuccessful 2013 campaign. Indeed, Hayes crowned Castilla's leadership during the Titianician invasion of Afalia as the defining moment of his presidency.

Castilla's words in the days leading up to the invasion reverberated through Hayes' head. "We will not let them [the Afalians] give in to savages, to ignorant oppressors," Castilla had proclaimed powerfully. "We will not let them become collective slaves to an ever-growing Titianician war machine. We will not let them fall. We will never abandon Afalia."

It was with these thoughts that he looked around at the elaborate preparations of the coronation. He looked at the excited faces of the Afalians as they prepared to crown their new monarch; he knew and they knew that war had been the turning point of Afalian culture. A nation with virtually no standing military, a beautiful nation of beautiful people with a beautiful culture, faced with the idea that a genocidal war machine was approaching to enslave them; the level-headed resilience they showed in the face of impeccable danger as powerful allies rallied to their cause; and the radical evolution of the Afalian military and security establishment as it reeled to defend itself once more.

Across the room, Hayes saw Afalian Prime Minister Christopher Kelly, the man with the large forehead (as Hayes remembered him, at least). Hayes recalled Kelly's own remarkable words from before that war: "Lazin’s greatest fault is our greatest weapon against him. His sadism, his anger, his complete dismissal of the human condition—that of freedom, individuality and love, leads him to doubt the power of the human spirit, the spirit of a people, the spirit of us all." It was with these words that the Afalian people had risen to defend their country. That description would later become the universally accepted characterization of Lazin, lurking behind the universal relief when, from the point of view of the Afalian and Emmerian people, this (in)human being was captured.

Hayes turned and watched Queen Amelia as she reached the platform at the top of the stairs. She was a beautiful young woman (he cared not to stare, because his wife was standing right next to him), looking somewhere in her mid 20s, her vivid blonde-streaked brunette hair flowing behind her. It was a breathtaking sight, a pretty young girl turned stunning queen as the remainder of the room looked on in awe. She stepped through the hall like an angel, meeting each of the countless guests with a striking and paralyzing smile.

As she approached Hayes, he couldn't help but give her a short, brief bow (before, of course, realizing that he wasn't supposed to bow, and wouldn't have as president either). He stuck out his hand to shake. "Your Majesty, Your Royal Highness," he said, greeting them. "Congratulations to both of you," he announced with a wide smile. He then noticed the Afalian prime minister behind them. "And greetings to you too, Prime Minister. It's been a while."

In another part of the room, Vaziri and Farah's conversation with the Librarian officials came to a brief pause as they watched the queen step out. It took her a while, of course, to reach them (as the hall was studded with guests), but once she did, Vaziri and his wife greeted her with courteous smiles.

"Pleasure to meet you, Your Majesty and, uh, Your Royal Highness," Vaziri said with a polite nod, barely remembering Prince Frederick's title. He shook their hands.

Farah did the same. "Congratulations on being crowned queen!" she said enthusiastically. "You still nervous?"

by **Libraria and Ausitoria** » Fri Jun 27, 2014 10:51 am

That frown. Curious that a frown, even one so rapidly dropped, hung around in the air, and after they had shaken hands the Foreign Secretary turned the tiniest of an inquisitive glance to an aide, who nodded and bent down to send a text message. It would go directly to the Ausitorian watch office - an office so designed to watch everything - who might tell them what it was about. For information was king.

And then entered the Queen. At another time, the entrance of the Queen would be a distraction - monarchs invariably were, all three of the men thought privately. For that was was the state of Ausitorian politics, where all the liberals were monarchists as long as the monarch understood who was really in charge.

Yet with that lingering frown, the Queen's pompous entrance, trumpets and all, was a blessing, and all three of them sang the anthem according to their ability; the Cabinet Secretary quietly trying to sing in tune, the Foreign Secretary singing a tenor line without realizing it, and the Prime Minister singing absent-mindedly while mentally planning out the first few lines of a chorale before realizing he was plotting it out from a half-forgotten memory; and all the while the three of them drifted ever so slowly into the background to provide the Emmerians some space to the collect themselves, and some space for the three to confer.

And then the three cheers was the signal for the start of what seemed to be an overenthusiastic rush for the unfortunate Monarch. But the three hung back slightly, each unobtrusively scratched an earlobe, activating hidden speakers, and listened to someone from the Ausitorian watch office explaining why the Emmerian President was somewhat ruffled: Sutadotazu to blockade Yoshiwa. And their eyes met and they all knew that they would all be interested to take up the matter further, at an opportune moment.

But Monarchs naturally took first place on the Agenda, and, realizing that all three of them scratching an earlobe would have been a sight for someone to notice, if they hadn't all been staring at the Queen - it was rather fortunate indeed that she was so striking - they stepped forth unobtrusively and quietly resumed their place in the throng beside the Emmerian contingent as the Queen stepped into speaking distance.

by **Regnum Albion** » Fri Jun 27, 2014 12:52 pm

[OOC: Sorry for what can be quite a poorly-written post at times. I'm afraid I hit a mental block but I wanted to keep up the pace of the RP. Happy reading.]

"Ah, Mr Yuan." Tweedsmuir had noticed the Aurinsulan party making its way casually across the room to meet up with him, recognisable by the quincolours emblazoned upon them (the Prime Minister, as it happened, had no such embellishments attached to his evening-wear, being identifiable by his face alone), and graciously parted from the assembled Anglican royalty with whom he had been conversing. It would not do well for any of the princes or, even, His Majesty himself to stand mutely to the side while the Prime Minister dealt politics with his foreign counterparts. It was not for fear that the Anglican dignitaries would embarrass themselves - in fact, William III had quite a reputation for his keen interest in Anglican affairs - but that they could fall into the trap that many constitutional monarchs dread, the most awful breach of their constitutional powers: holding a political opinion. And so, to allow himself some time to converse with some of Aurinsula's great an powerful, in particular the Foreign Secretary, Tweedsmuir had separated himself from his sovereign and allowed the royals to mingle to their hearts' content while he chatted in polite but rigidly-formal tones to fellow politicians. And there would be reason to talk, of course. Chenberry - or Chonburi, as those Easterners loved to call it - was currently split down the middle, Anglican troops stationed with their Afalian and Blackledgic allies one one side facing up against Aurinsulans on the other. Far from the generally warm relations that he had grown up knowing between Regnum Albion and the Tinchalian state, Tweedsmuir was now presiding over a period of increased tension and mild international concern. Therefore, he was desirable of the slightest chance for some direct communication between his own government and that of Aurinsula, even if it was simply a brief moment of discussion in the midst of an otherwise joyous occasion. So it was that he stood alone in front of these three Tinchalians, nodding the mildest of bows to all of them and extending his hand to each in turn. Truth be told, though, Tweedsmuir's gaze remained more-or-less focused rather intently on Yuan, the Foreign Minister. Of all three Aurinsulan representatives he was the one with the most knowledge and power of the Chenberry situation, and would therefore provide the most efficient medium through whom to communicate with the wider Aurinsulan administration.

"Vice President. Your Excellency. Minister." Tweedsmuir cycled through each of the representatives in the same faux-charmed fashion that politicians the world over understand from their hours spent shaking hands and greeting one another at state events. His expression was fixed in the same polite but somewhat dark look involving a minor curling-up of the edges of his lips in an almost-sinister smile, while his eyes maintained an emotionless stare at the Aurinsulans. It allowed the Prime Minister to listen to the Aurinulan's greeting with a degree of mild interest evident in his features, but to present a colder, more calculating face when he responded. Such an effort was, unfortunately, necessary when dealing with the increasingly ruthless Aurinsulans regarding Chenberry, and would be gone from Tweedsmuir's face as soon as talk of politics ended, but for now it was a permanent unchanging mask that he wore with subtlety and care. "And how very good it is to see you too, Mr Yuan. It's been too long since our last meeting. At any rate, I'm very well and, by the looks of it, you are too I hope." Pleasantries aside, Tweedsmuir continued on, his tone retaining a casual twinge which was at odds with what he was about to say. "Pass on my own regards for the Premier, and those of the military administrators in Chenberry."

The not-so-cautious reference spoken by the Prime Minister regarded the men who governed the Joint Occupation Zone in the east of Aeneas. In all there were five of them from Regnum Albion and a number of Afalians alongside them, forming the executive of the occupational government that would gradually be fixing that broken mess of a country. They had inherited a territory with sound infrastructure and decent living conditions - at least in comparison to their neighbours in the east - and were coping with the daunting task of rebuilding and democratising the place. The efforts they required were already gargantuan, such was evidenced by the spending now flowing into the country, but had been made all-the-more difficult by the actions of the Aurinsulans in their eastern zone who had begun a determined resettlement policy. Refugees had poured over the border and into the international zone and the western sectors, much to the ire of local bureaucrats and to the disgust of much of the Anglican public. The government only had support for the occupation because the people understood the necessity to be there and, more importantly, the obligation, but with a full-blown humanitarian crisis on the rise there was a growing section of them who wanted nothing to do with the place. Equally there were some voices calling for a harsher line against the Aurinsulans. Either way, the Prime Minister and his government were having to toe a fine line in their policy towards Chenberry, and looked for any chance to talk to their eastern counterparts about it. By so blatantly bringing up the matter, Tweedsmuir hoped that the topic of conversation would consequently be settled for the brief chat that he was expecting, but as always at state events, formalities came first.

"But before we go any further, I believe it's almost time for Her Majesty to reveal herself to the world. It would be awfully rude of us to miss it." Almost on cue, the trumpeters who had been patiently standing vigil at the end of the room blared into life, performing that song known the world over as the Afalian Royal Anthem, and announcing the entry of a new monarch to the room. Of all the countless tailored suits, white tie affairs, military uniforms, sashes, medals and dresses that littered the room, Amelia stood resplendent above them all, a woman in her prime and with her hands firmly on the wheel of her realm, guiding its collective consciousness into the mists beyond with that indomitable regal manner that was unique to the ancient monarchies and, today, particularly to the newly-crowned Queen. The setting, the guests, the music, it combined to create a heady sort-of atmosphere which emboldened all present and inspired Tweedsmuir with something akin to pride for Queen Amelia and Afalia, if it were possible for him to feel proud of a country and monarch he could not claim to be his own. Regardless, he maintained silence for the Queen and bowed his head for the anthem, watching his fellow Anglican guests do the same. The exception was the King, naturally, who by virtue of having donned his naval uniform was standing to attention and had his hand raised in salute, reminiscent of the old photographs of him in the eighties aboard some vessel far across the seas. His earlier years had been spent in the Royal Navy serving at bastions of Empire or isolated areas of interest just like any other soldier, and that was what gave him the right to wear his uniform that day. With any luck, his sons would follow in the long royal tradition and spend time serving the people they would one day rule over.

Yes, William III was indeed a considerate man, perhaps too considerate to hold any practical office of state, but as a representative of all Anglicans he did them proud. Which is why he pardoned himself as politely as he could from the Grand Duke, ensuring that their conversation had of course reached its natural end, and made his way through the throngs to meet the Afalian monarch. Alongside her was that constant guardian, Christopher Kelly, who was so admired by the King, but precedent dictated that Amelia be the first to receive any greeting and, naturally being well versed in royal procedure, the old King made his introductions.

"Your Majesty, I remember my own coronation so clearly even at my age, but it gives me so much more pleasure to have witnessed yours today. My fondest wishes to you, and I will of course insist that you visit Sandown over the summer so that we may better acquaint ourselves." The King, old enough to be a father to his fellow monarch, smiled that same warm smile that he was known for, his eyes giving away the true depth of feeling expressed in his sensitive soul. He turned to Amelia's husband and proffered the same heart-felt tone in greeting. "And Your Royal Highness, I'm sure this day must make you as proud as anything for your beautiful wife. Although, if the pressure does grow to heavy, I made sure to instruct the Palace to bring you your own gift for the coronation - a bottle of twenty-five year old Scotch." This time it was more of a grin that adorned the King's face, but was still as friendly as the smile he had offered to the new Queen. "I don't wish to keep you from your fellow guests, so I'll bid my adieu for now, but I know my sons are waiting their turn to speak to you too. I'm sure you'll enjoy talking to someone your own age!" Fatherly was, apparently, a word used to describe not only the King's age but his sense of humour too. "One last time though, I must congratulate you. Well done, Your Majesty."

As the King walked off to one side, he rested a hand on Kelly's shoulder and turned to face him in conversation. His voice was quieter, but not suspiciously so, as he attempted not to distract other guests from the main focus - Amelia. Instead, he leaned close to the Prime Minister and spoke light-heartedly to him as though they were already good chums. "It seems like only yesterday that I was over here speaking to your Parliament. How things change in such a short time." The monarch stopped as though deep in thought reflecting on what he had just said, but almost immediately snapped himself out of his stupour. "You know, you're lucky to have gained such a compassionate Queen so soon after the loss of an honourable King. She'll do her duty, I'm sure of it, and she'll be bloody good at it too.[/i]" He parted with a slap on the back before turning to Kelly one more time and adding, "Ah yes, and I believe your counterpart in my government wished to speak to you at some point in the evening."

by **Aurinsula** » Sat Jun 28, 2014 1:28 am

Obviously, this was not the place for genuine negotiating; it was enough to simply show their solicitude. Yuan accepted Tweedsmuir's good graces, and returned them in kind.

"Thank you. I will relay your regards. Our people will get in touch with your people." It had to be "our people" because decisions of the magnitude they would discuss could not be made by any one person. As experienced statesmen and diplomats - obviously including Tweedsmuir - all knew, Aurinsulans had a notoriously collective style of leadership and decision-making. In addition to the 14 people with official decision-making power, there existed also a nebulous web of as many as 30 or 40 others, many of them unelected, some of them even ostensibly private citizens, all of whom had to agree or at least vaguely acquiesce to any major decisions. He finished off with a respectful little nod, and then let the issue drop for the moment.

When their turn came in the receiving line, the three men gave a little bow in unison to the new Queen. The Aurinsulans generally had little regard for the splendor and pageantry of kings and queens; in their own history, they had evicted their last Emperor and sent him out onto the streets. The country lacked any great deal of monarchical feeling, and their yellow press barely even followed the adventures of foreign monarchs (unless they did something scandalous.) But, as always, the Aurinsulans were polite and well-meaning, and the Ambassador led the way.

"Your Majesty," said Tang, "may I introduce Vice-President Huang Shicheng," who bowed again, "and Foreign Minister Yuan Weiruan," who bowed more deeply. "On behalf of the President and the whole Republic of Aurinsula, we extend our most heart-felt congratulations on your coronation. Wansui." The traditional toast of ten-thousand years. The other two men repeated his wish, and let the monarch pass on to people who were more fluent in her language.

by **Segland** » Tue Jul 01, 2014 9:11 am

Heinrich Mueller was not a happy man.

As the President of the Seglandic Republic, Mueller was well-known in his own nation, but that was about all. Estranged from the international community, he held little to no real power. Foreigners constantly imposed embargoes on the Realm. If there weren't any embargoes, normal consumers would simply boycott any goods that they knew were produced in Segland. Ever since the 1960s, the Seglandic economy had been on a downward spiral, causing thousands of Seglanders to starve and the rest to have to work at inhumanely low wages.

The truth was that Mueller could not easily open up a conversation with any other delegate at the party. The ideology of national socialism was almost entirely unique to Segland, isolating it from mainstream world politics. There was, perhaps, no one who was more furious about this than Heinrich Mueller. Every night before he went to bed, he would tear up copies of foreign constitutions. Every morning when he woke up, he would throw knives at any world maps in his presidential residence.

To add to the President's inner resentment, the presence of a certain nation only irked him more -- the Emmerians. It had been a long time since the ACA was disbanded, but Segland had been one of its core members. Mueller partly blamed the rhetoric of the Emmerians for the ACA's downfall, which resulted in the near-discontinuation of Seglandic trade with other states. He contemptuously eyed Hayes and Vaziri for a few seconds before catching himself and looking away. Instead, he made sure that his outfit was in spotless condition: a pitch-black trench coat with matching dark trousers. His smoothly shaved head and broad shoulders contrasted nicely with his relatively short stature.

In spite of his disdain, Mueller would have to at least attempt to mingle with the other world leaders. He decided to approach the Aurinsulans first, since their culture was at least more similar to Segland than that of the other nations in attendance. Damn the fact that they weren't up to his standards of ethnic purity.

"Mr. Yuan, your excellency. It is an honor to meet you...allow me to introduce myself. I am President Heinrich Mueller of the Seglandic Republic."

by **Winovia** » Thu Jul 03, 2014 10:07 am

The Winovian delegation consisted of two very important men, the first and second in line to the throne. Both we dressed in formal Winovian wear, a black tail-coat and black tie, but the royal blue andngold sashes they word identified them as members of the Winovian Royal Family. Prince Adam of Creston, Crown Prince of Winovia had been chosen by Her Majesty to attend the event, and he happily accepted. A very formal and professional man, Adam was very much suited for an event such as this. Known for his seriousness and natural care for others, Adam was beloved by the people and Winovia, and everyone he came into contact with.

His younger brother, Prince Julien of Kelm, on the other hand was not so serious and professional. In Winovia he was known as the "Playboy Prince", for his many affairs with celebrities and his lavish lifestyle. He acted more like a celebrity than like a Prince that could become heir at any moment. Though Julien was a " Playboy" like they called him, he could be kept under control by his brother, and that is why Her Majesty had chosen him to accompany the older Prince.

The two entered the ballroom as Queen Amelia came down to greet all of her guest. Prince Adam straightened his tie before weaving through the crowd to get to the Queen. He was going over in his head exactly what he had prepared to say to her. This was his first trip without his mother and he was quite nervous meeting this newly crowned queen. "Your Majesty," he said slightly bowing, "I would like to say it is a pleasure making your acquaintance and congratulations on your Coronation. My mother, Her Majesty Queen Sophie, send her congratulations, as well as her apologies for not being able to attend."

by **Arthurista** » Fri Jul 04, 2014 1:12 pm

Blackdonian Palace
Blackdon, Kingdom of Afalia
“You know,” mused His Highness Gareth II, the current Lord Protector of Arthurista, “I really do like Her Majesty Queen Amelia.”

The white-tied young man of 20 behind him chuckled. “Mom, Dad seems to be taking an interest in a pretty young lady.”

“Remind me to kick his arse in private later, Michael.” Lady Evelyn Gammond-Arthurius, the Lord Protector’s consort, tried her best to summon up all the gravitas in the world, but still said it with a smile.

“I’m just saying, Mike, she seemed remarkably composed and dignified during her coronation. I remember what I was like when during my inauguration ceremony – I was less frightened when mad insurgents were firing RPGs at my helicopter.”

Though a monarch, the Lord Protector looked slightly out of place among the opulent surroundings and the rarified guest list. For one, he was not a Field Marshal or Grand Admiral - the insignia on his dress uniform showed only the rank of a Lieutenant Commander in the People’s Navy Reserve. He also appeared without rows of tin on his breast, wearing only the two that he earned during active service – the Barahaq Campaign Medal and the Distinguished Flying Cross, awarded for his daredevil feats in rescuing pinned down troops under fire as a Westland Sea King pilot. It was around the same time that he met his future wife, then a war-correspondent for the Loweport Guardian. Their wartime experience also explained why the couple felt such a connection with Afalia. They’d seen the devastation of war first hand, and they felt honour-bound to do everything they could to help Afalia get back on its feet after the Titianician War.

Even if he was wearing ‘civvies’ , Gareth suspected, he would still look rather adrift. The monarchy is a remarkably casual thing in Arthurista. The Lord Protector was never an absolute monarch – even during feudal times he was simply the leader of the knightly aristocracy and protector of his people’s liberties, who had to bargain with parliament for political support. When Tancred III tried to make himself an autocrat in the mid-1600s, he was swiftly killed in the resulting war, and the Lord Protector’s office barely survived the subsequent constitutional reordering which ushered in the prototype of the current parliamentary democracy.

Moreover, Arthuristan ‘royals’ were expected to work – not that they needed the money, but the ethos of public service was deeply ingrained even at the pinnacle of the pyramid. Gareth became a historian after his wartime service and still teaches at Kingston University. His wife remained a journalist and Elbareth, the Duchess of Kingston, his eldest child and heir apparent, has followed in her father’s footstep and became a pilot in the Fleet Air Arm.

“See that chappy over there,” Michael said quietly careful not to be overheard, “Mueller of Segland, I’m guessing?”

“You’re right, my lord,” replied Dame Estelle Simmons, Arthurista’s ambassador to Afalia, “very astute.”

“He looks civil enough, but mentally I think the lunatic must be frothing in his mouth.” Arthuristans are a remarkably tolerant lot with regards to various political viewpoints, but after the devastating, brutal war fought some 70 years ago, fascism of any stripe is universally loathed. The Defence of the State Act of 1941 stipulates that any Arthuristan citizen who belonged to a fascist group is to be treated as enemy combatants and fifth columnists, effectively outlaws without any legal protection whatsoever. The law was never enforced in the past 70 years, but neither was it repealed.

The fact that the ACA, of which Segland was a staunch member, menaced Pardes in the not too distant past didn’t help either.

“One wonders how did these nasty buggers get invitations in the first place. What machinations went on under the table?”

Gareth smiled slightly in approval at the incisive question. Michael Arthurius, Marquess of Harding and undergraduate student at the University of Loweport, was in many ways the exact opposite of his elder sister. Elbareth was a youth model, the politically conscientious activist who handed the protestors’ manifesto to her father on parliament square, the heir to the Shield, fighter pilot and amateur martial artist. She was brash, confident and a media star. Michael, however, was a lot less public and received far less press coverage which, few realised, was a deliberate policy. He possessed the rare combination of charming interpersonal skills, meticulous attention to detail and analytical ability. The story for public consumption was that he was aiming for a diplomatic career after his military service. This was not wrong, but not the whole story, either. The Arthuristan Foreign Office includes under its ambit the Strategic Intelligence Bureau, which Michael was very determined to join.

As far as his father could tell, he seemed to be a natural at the game.

“Come now, let’s ignore the ‘lunatic’, as you so diplomatically put it,” he said in a low, conspiratorial tone. “There’re far more pleasant people about, say…the Emmerians, over there. Might as well have an informal chat with the president about the Yoshinwa situation. Or-“ he was interrupted by a burst of fanfare, “actually, here comes Her Majesty. Time to say hello?”

by **Afalia** » Sat Jul 05, 2014 4:14 am

And so it began. Amelia took quiet comfort at the figure of the Prime Minister behind him. For now both the Queen’s Prime Minister and her future Prime Minister, Jessica Shaw, would be her senior by some twenty to thirty years. There would come a time, Amelia thought, assuming she lived and reigned long enough where she would generally surpass the age of her Prime Ministers and become the grandmother figure she was meant to be. Afalians were a funny sort of royalists. Though the majority of the population generally supported the monarchy, tradition, continuity or unity for some, the money for others. However when it came to the figurehead of said monarchy the people would only approve as far as they could respect him or her.

The Queen’s predecessor and grandfather King George had died a hero and practical secular saint, but his approval ratings did not climb to acceptable levels until the 1960s when his leadership role had garnered the respect of the rather stroppy Afalian populace. Besides, Amelia considered, once respect was earned it was not guaranteed to stay. George’s mental health problems in the wake of his son’s death had thrown the monarchy into a disaster as they essentially lost their leader. The King was briefly less popular than mainstream politicians, a truly remarkable Afalian achievement, but he’d climbed out of the ditch and his determination to go on won him back much needed support.

For Amelia the same respect would have to be earned. She was considered beautiful, which helped with the tabloid press, certain sectors of society and even occasionally within foreign circles, but the respect of the nation would, she knew, be earnt with the next few months. She had to be strong, firm but fair, as well as beautiful.

For now however Amelia was the newbie and the support of the Prime Minister meant a lot, not least symbolically but also diplomatically. Should any guest bring up a political matter Kelly could quickly steer the guest away thus protecting and preserving Amelia’s sacred politically neutral position and allowing protocol to carry on without any embarrassing interruptions. First up it was the Mcnernians, in particular Prince Fredrick, who stepped forward, bowed and gave his congratulations.

‘Your Highness, thank you very much. Please send my thanks to His Royal Majesty for his congratulations. Thank you for coming all this way, I trust your journey was fine?’

Once Amelia had finished conversing with Prince Fredrick, a rather common name for princes it occurred to her, she moved to the next group of guests who drew towards her. The apparently casual way the Queen and her husband made their way through the crowded ballroom was, to any birdseye view observer, carefully orchestrated to avoid certain groups and individuals the Queen had no desire to meet. In particular the appearance of the Seglandic President Heinrich Mueller irked Amelia more than any other. She felt like crying out, ‘What is he doing here!?’ but knew she could not.

Segland’s invitation had been controversial from the start, a rather unfortunate implication of realist politics. The foreign office had invited the head of state of every nation in Aeneas, including Segland’s own. Whilst hoping, and some assuming, President Mueller would refuse the foreign secretary had been rather annoyed when he’d received a confirmation back from the fascist head of state. Now he lurked like a sore thumb in the ballroom, much to the Queen’s displeasure. There had been rumours the soon to be Prime Minister would cut off relations with the fascist government in Segland but these were rumours, not facts and the Queen knew better than to trust them. For now anyway it didn’t matter, for Mueller was in the ballroom.

Ignoring the guest for a moment however Amelia turned her attention to the next set of guests, former President Hayes and his wife, whose presence wiped the disapproving Mueller related look off her face and brought out instead a bright, optimistic smile. Hayes bowed unexpectedly, (Amelia had been briefed before on Emmerian customs), and stuck out his hand to shake making his own congratulations.

‘President Hayes, it’s a pleasure to see you again,’ the two had met a few times during Hayes’ visits to King George, ‘Thank you for your congratulations and, of course, I must thank you for coming.’ The ‘thank you for coming’ which Amelia said had a deeper meaning than a simple pleasantry. In the aftermath of the Titanican War, as many of the Emmerian deployment had packed up and left for their own shores, crowds had held banners reading: ‘Thank you for coming,’ in reference to Emmeria’s help. Amelia was as thankful as ever for the help they had received and as a representative of the Afalian people felt it her duty to show their continued thanks. The Prime Minister did too, stepping forward after the Queen had finished speaking with Hayes and shaking his hand, ‘It has been too long Mr. President,’ he agreed, remembering to use the correct title, ‘We must talk more when I’m retired,’ the Prime Minister said, ‘We’re opening a new museum soon about the war which we’d be honoured with your presence at.’

With her conversation with Hayes and his wife finished Amelia stepped forward to meet the current President, Alex Vaziri, and his wife Farah, parallels of Amelia and Frederick in many ways. The new shiny Emmerian head of state with his beautiful wife and in Amelia’s case handsome husband. As Vaziri stepped forward to shake hands Amelia took some pleasure in Spencer’s discomforted face. Emmerian protocol dictated that officials, from staffers to the President, would not bow down to foreign nobility, Queens included. Whilst Amelia did not mind this historical custom Spencer’s conservative nature was clearly angered, though his stiff upper lip kept his true feelings hidden behind a neutral face.

‘Thank you Mr. President, thank you for coming over here and joining us this evening. How is everything in Oured?’

The casual response of Vaziri’s wife brought a relaxed smile to Amelia’s face. The rigid protocol of these types of meetings could be tiresome quickly so it was always a relief when someone introduced an air of informality. Spencer’s face turned redder at Farah’s question but he remained, as ever, the dutiful servant.

‘Thank you,’ the Queen said, ‘Well I’ve been doing it for seven months technically, but the coronation makes it all seem official and I must confess I’m rather nervous, but don’t tell anyone!’ she joked, ‘I’m not allowed to be nervous.’

Behind the Emmerians lurked the delegation from the Libraria and Ausitoria, but it was the Anglicans who stepped up next much to Amelia’s delight. King William III, Amelia's opposite and neighbour, stepped forward first. The two had met a few months ago when William had come to Blackdon and made his speech to Parliament calling for even greater Anglo-Afalian unity and co-operation in a scary time. He was the first Anglican monarch to speak to Parliament since independence and the first ever foreign person to address both houses of Parliament since independence as well. When the two had met for tea and the exchange of gifts afterwards they had gotten on well and Amelia knew she would enjoy working closely with her royal counterparts across the ocean and learning from her counterpart's collected years of wisdom and knowledge.

'Your Majesty, thank you. I would be honoured to accept an invitation to Sandown. I have never been there before but I believe my grandfather visited and he told me how lovely it was. If I do visit you'll have to let slip some of the secrets of being a successful monarch!' Amelia joked. When the two had finished speaking the King turned to Frederick and began talking revealing his gift of twenty five year scotch, a most welcome present after such a stressful day, before offering his congratulations once more. 'Thank you again Your Majesty, I look forward to seeing more of you very soon,' Amelia said, before the King made his way to the Prime Minister.

Kelly stepped away from the Queen as the King began to speak, enough so his own conversation was not interrupting Amelia, whilst close enough should any emergency arise. 'Your Majesty,' Kelly said, bowing slightly in the presence of the Anglican monarch. He paused whilst the King spoke. The two men were not vastly different in ages like William was to Amelia. All the same the hand that rested on the Prime Minister's shoulder was a fatherly one, conveying comforting advice or reassurance without being inappropriate. 'We have been very lucky indeed Your Majesty. It was difficult of course, to loose his late Majesty so soon after the war, but we're pulling through and she's been remarkable in helping us pull through. I'm glad you have faith in her Your Majesty,' Kelly said, 'We have faith in her too.' The King left with a friendly slap on the back before adding that his Prime Minister wanted to speak, 'Thank you Your Majesty, I'll seek him out after the formalities of this are done. Your Majesty,' Kelly said once more, with a bow, before the Anglican King departed.

Next to greet Amelia were the Aurinsulans who stepped up politely and bowed. The arrival of the Aurinsulans had been covered on the news channels as if it was some sort of great unexpected event. It was true, the Queen considered, relations weren't at their highest point. When troops were lined up facing each other behind borders things had a nasty habit of becoming somewhat difficult, but some of the talk in the press was ridiculous. The Aurinsulan ambassador led his party introducing the Vice President and foreign minister before making their congratulations on behalf of the President and Republic, finishing with the traditiona Wansui toast, a nice little oddity in comparison to the rest of the evening's greetings. Amelia returned their bows with the correct Aurinsulan expected custom before speaking, 'Your Excellencies,' Amelia said, 'Thank you for your toast and thank you for coming. I hope you're enjoying the evening.'

And with that the Aurinsulan delegation departed. To the point, Amelia thought, not the worst thing in the world. She and Frederick paused for a moment, a rather unexpected gap in the proceedings. She turned to look at her husband, 'Not doing too badly am I?' she asked. Before Frederick could organise a coherent answer however the stream of guests had begun again with Prince Adam, the Crown Prince of Winovia and Prince Julien of Kelm approaching. The Queen had occasionally read of Julien's exploits in the less respected sections of the press. The seriousness of Adam and playboy nature of Julien parallelled Amelia and her younger sister's Laura's personalities perfectly. 'Your Royal Highness, thank you for your congratulations. Please tell Her Majesty not to worry and thank her for sending her own congratulations. Thank you for coming this evening, I hope you're having a nice time?'

With the talk with the Winovian Princes over Amelia turned to look across the ballroom at the thousand or guests which were squashed in. There were still many guests to greet with the Libararia and Ausitoria delegation and the Arthuristans approaching. Beyond them many more waited for their turn to offer their congratulations to the Queen. Amelia turned to Frederick and smiled, 'More to go.'

by **Arthurista** » Sun Jul 06, 2014 3:38 am

Blackdonian Palace,
Blackdon, Afalia

“Your majesty, our most sincere congratulations,” Dame Estelle Simmons, Arthurista’s ambassador to Afalia, led the group. “Please allow me to introduce my boss, His Highness the Lord Protector.”

“Tut tut, Estelle, don’t let Valerie hear you do that.” Valerie Chen-Raman, the foreign secretary, was a notorious stickler for protocol. “Your majesty,” he said as he bowed – a fraction less than Simmons’, as appropriate for a fellow sovereign greeting another, before shaking her hand, “congratulations for your coronation. It was a most splendid event. I remember my own inauguration in 86 – we were still in a messy recession then, and the government of the day decided it wouldn’t be appropriate to put on a huge display of pomp and circumstance. It took herculean effort to pry loose a single horse for the honour guard! On a more serious note, given…recent trying events, I hope today can serve as a symbol of the new era ahead.”

“I must apologise for Elbareth’s absence, Your Majesty,” Lady Evelyn chimed in, “she’s been promoted to be her squadron’s XO. With tensions flaring up, she’s been dumped with a ton of non-optional paperwork at the last minute.”

“Which, for that flying maniac, must be hell indeed;” said Michael, with only the barest hint of sibling rivalry in his voice, “congratulations, your majesties, madam Prime Minister,” he carefully greeted every member of the royal party, “I must say, this is a rather … diverse and comprehensive guest list. It’ll make for an interesting evening, I bet.”

by **Libraria and Ausitoria** » Sun Jul 06, 2014 4:51 am

As written in the script.

They had known the evening would be busy, and the Queen would have plenty of people to see, and they had four points to make, preferably within half a minute for the Queen's sake: they were Ausitorian, they were in it for peace and prosperity, they wanted more active relations, and they were there to support her.

There would be time for detailed diplomacy, but this was not it: and now the scene was set. Everything was being stage-managed to perfection. And now the time was ripe for their own part.

Exit Arthuristan. Enter Ausitoria.

"Congratulations, your Majesty, from the people of Ausitoria," smiled the Prime Minister, with a graceful bow of his head as from one head of government to a head of state.
"May your reign be peaceful and prosperous," smiled the Cabinet Secretary, who nodded his head gracefully as from an acting head of state to another head of state.
"And may it usher a new more active phase in the friendship between our nations," finished the Foreign Secretary warmly, as he drew up from a splendiferous little bow as from a Prince to a Monarch.
"This must be an awful bore for you, this sort of thing," said the Prime Minister, slightly less loudly, as he waved a hand in the direction of the continuing horde of approaching guests. "Please forgive our part in it." His eyes twinkled.

And that, as far as the Ausitorians were concerned, was all that they needed to say at the moment. It was the perfect conversation closer if the Queen wanted to move on, for the Ausitorians had managed to escape the terrible trap of thinking of Monarchs as inhuman, and had absolutely no wish to detain Amelia for any longer - unless, of course, she preferred to be detained from whoever might come next...

by **Segland** » Sun Jul 06, 2014 3:06 pm

After speaking with the Aurinsulans for a few minutes, President Mueller continued his zig-zagging route through the hordes of foreign delegations. He consistently managed to draw frowns or scowls from just about every other person at the gathering. Of course, this was to be expected -- no respectable member of the Seglandic National Socialist Party could be caught having a good time with a non-Seglander. Not even Mueller, an experienced politician and diplomat, was ever greeted by positive reactions from international statesmen. In fact, he was even starting to get a sense that the others present at the party didn't like him!

Mueller hummed the Seglandic national anthem as he casually strolled through the mammoth hall. What unnecessary excess, he thought to himself as he analyzed the room. Fascist architecture, that of Segland in particular, was known for its simplicity and Neoclassical roots. Government buildings were to be attractive, but not complicated. Aesthetically pleasing, but never overly detailed. Great state monuments and edifices were kept in tip-top condition as a reminder of the glorious history of Seglandic Nazism. All Seglanders were aware of the fact that the political and economic system of the NRRS* was superior to all foreign ideologies. It was due to this condescending attitude that Mueller so detested the people all around him.

He then realized that there was one incredibly important attendant to which he was required to pay his respects. With two GSD** men to his side, Mueller made a beeline for Queen Amelia.

*New Realm of the Republic of Segland; the official name of the Seglandic Republic
**General Security Directorate; the main intelligence agency of Segland

Law, Justice and Mercy [IC/CLOSED]

Law, Justice and Mercy [IC/CLOSED]

Prince Fredrick of Tyrone

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