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The Rone Conference (Closed, Attn Tyrrhenia)

PostPosted: Mon Jun 18, 2012 8:14 pm
by The Fanboyists
Nearly three months had passed since the explosion that had thrown a continent into chaos. Three months of bloodshed, ripping apart the continent and empire of Waldenburg, drawing the powers of Tyrrhenia into conflict around it, like a black hole, leaving nothing around it unaffected. Not even the Allamunnic States, long a diplomatic backwater in the region, had escaped its effects entirely. The Haldstadts, a branch of Allamunnic nobility, had watched their kin across the sea take the opportunity to free themselves of Waldenburger influence and drawn independent elements in the states into the war. In the meantime, the diplomatic and intelligence services found themselves having to devote greater scrutiny to the nation's neighbors, and the overall turmoil in the region had seen the public grow uneasy.

Stalhamark was a state that had been heavily-industrialized. Thomasburg, the largest city in the Allamunnic States, produced more steel in a year than some entire countries did in ten. Dunnmaar was a hub of manufacturing and transportation, and the foundaries of Daalfuurge armed the Federal Army. In a state full of factories, foundaries, mines and their ilk, Rone was an anomaly. It was a city that had only a perfunctory industrial presence, and what was there was concentrated mostly in the transportation of goods assembled elsewhere. As a result, it had never aquired the haze that some of the other cities, especially Thomasburg, had in the past century.

Situated on the river that gave the city its name, Rone was pristine and beautiful in a way that only a handful of other cities in the Allamunnic States were, and the Filie family estate three miles from the city even more so. And situated as it was on lines of transport, granting ease of access to visitors, it had been an ideal place, removed from the machinery of government in Faedrulhulm and the bureaucracy-laden downtowns of Inneville and Filia and the familial politics of Koenigshalloe, to host a meeting of the leaders of Tyrrhenia, where they might resolve their differences and, with any luck, bring an end to the bloodshed in Waldenburg.

Which was how, on a typically frozen Stalhamarkian early-January morning, the President of the Allamunnic States found himself pulling his coat around him tighter, bracing against the cold, powdery wind. The Rone Central Rail Station was a fully modern, and moreover beautiful facility, its style clearly of the sort common in the Allamunnic States in the late 19th-century; Rone Central had been constructed in 1878, before the Allamunnic States was even a country, and the family of Andrew Filie, it's current President, had ruled Stalhamark as their own domain. However, despite the station's warmer interior, Filie was, much to those standing with him's annoyance, opting to remain on the platform waiting for the other leaders to arrive; the train chartered to carry them from the airport twelve miles away was due to be arriving within the next fifteen minutes, and Filie was a Stalhmarker; the mountain cold bothered him only a little. Moreover, as young as he was (he'd only be turning 37 in the spring), the cares of six years of leading the nation were already apparent in the lines forming prematurely on his face, and the flecks of grey beginning to work their way into his light brown hair. However, the icy-blue eyes that were so often noted were as lively as ever. Despite his reserved demeanor, it was apparent to anyone that knew him from more than a few meetings that he was a relatively optimistic and cheerful man when not presenting the public face of the President.

The woman standing next to him, bundled in her own coat, felt differently about the cold. The Allamunnic States' Chancellor was also attending. Serving as a sort of vice-president and prime minister simultaneously, Amanda Haldstadt was a member of the nation's most powerful noble line, and a formidible politician in her own right. She was also from the warmer plains of Ostlund, and did not like the cold one bit. She was a woman of average height, moderate build, and the same brown hair and brown eyes that were so common throughout the Allamunnic genepool. However, her skill as an administrator was far from common. And she was shivering.

On either side of them were two members of the Cataphracts, the elite shocktroops of the Allamunnic military. They towered over their charges, each of them around six feet and four inches in height and with plenty of muscle on their bones, they certainly cut imposing figures. They didn't wear dress-uniforms, as one might have expected, instead wearing the grey-and-brown urban-camoflauge field uniforms the Cataphracts favored, along with the assault-shotguns they preferred in the urban fighting they had had their most recent experience in.

Another gust of wind rewarded their patience, as they continued to watch for the train. Unknown minutes passed, and a faint horn could be heard. Another minute, and it grew louder, although through the wind, it was still muffled. However, the rumbling of an incoming train was impossible to hide for long, even by harsh weather. The red-and-silver lead engine darted past, braking as it went, with three cars followed it, in a similar red-and-silver decorating scheme that might have been at home on a train car fifty-years previous in some other countries, all metallic paneling and smooth lines. As it halted at the platform, doors opened on the cars, and ushers stepped forward to escort the train's passengers into the station.

When the leaders arrived, they would be escorted into the station and to the doors outside where a motorcade awaited to take them to the estate, where the conference would be held properly, away from prying ears. And, being as it had been a royal residence prior to 1884, there were certainly the necessary facilities for a meeting of leaders, although where once it would have been the kings of Stalhamark, Skraelingia, Piekslund, Ostrea, Kohlenburg and Tyrrslund assembling, now it was a veritable cast of leaders from throughout the region, accustomed to doing such business.

Filie nearly smiled; the wait was at an end. But that thought was tempered by another. A reminder coursing through his mind, telling him that there was much work to be done.

PostPosted: Tue Jun 19, 2012 7:04 pm
by Waldenburg 2
"Don't be a bloody idiot, alright? Just repeat what we told you. It will be easy. I promise. And who knows, maybe even the truth is on your side." Where the more analytically oriented portions of the brain touched the more poetic this caused some very few problems. The darkness of uncertainty lovingly caressed the germ of guilt, the seed of skepticism and started poking holes in the written instructions that were tucked away in a diplomatic bag stored under the rather dirty train bench. It had. It had, until Captain Lintz had reached the conclusion 'balls to that' and taken a deep draft from his hip flask.

As the Catoist representative at Rone, Captain Lintz knew a great deal was expected of him; with the eloquence of five decades in the civil service he was to tactfully and passionately state the case of the rightful Emperor of Waldenburg. He would. He would, were he not a cavalry officer, and chosen simply by the expedient process of the Caotist Minister of Foreign Affairs calling up the closest man and sending him the Order of Tyrrhenia and a fancy set of trousers.

Lintz for his part had excepted because he was not one to turn down the chance of a wet bar, and quite frankly the nuisance raid his squadron of ethnically mismatched hussars had been performing for two weeks mostly consisted of torching peasant's turnip sheds. A tiring task for even the most heartless of brigands. Even when ordered on the diplomatic path, he couldn't escape the war.

A small dust up on the border with Laysley, had slightly dampened the mood, and fifty-three of his hussars were buried in shallow graves along with two Yallakians and dozens of villagers. He hadn't intended it to happen, it was an accident by even the most callous of judges, but word had spread among the egg-headed yokels of the foothills, and Captain Lintz had acquired the the ominous if difficult nom de guerre 'The Butcher of Bad Melzenheim.' The fires had spread, the machine gun kept peppering the Rathaus, and sooner than the scuffle was resolved the entire village was on fire, women and children fleeing while their menfolk picked up the trusty pitchfork.

"Looks like we've arrived sir," one of the six hussars that remained with the Captain, poked him out of a dark reflection. The hussar as wearing a bloody and stained jacket, about a size too small for him, with the one of the sleeve cut raggedly about the forearm.

"Lighter is the wound foreseen, sergeant," Lintz said rather more vociferously than he intended. He himself was wearing a uniform about a size too large, freshly pressed and with the left sleeve neatly pinned up to elbow height.

"How do you mean sir?" Baggage was being brought down as the hussars began to gather their belongings and tear up the infuriatingly complicated crossword puzzle of the Times of Laysley. It was considered by the more conscientious cavalrymen that there was an editor holed up in Laysley giving far more than he was taking.

"In layman's terms," the Captain tried to seize his bag with the stump of his left arm, "Damn!"


"It worked for both occasions sergeant," Lintz swung his bag over his shoulder and slid open the compartment door and pushed out into the hallway. He had some considerable difficulty with the eye-patch, but considering the pustulant flesh was still crackling disturbingly when he blinked he thought it more diplomatic to keep the black square on. Blinking. That was a habit he would have to break too. Within a few seconds he had found the train's exterior door and stepped out onto a station platform.

Gerd Lintz, the fast infamous 'Butcher of Bad Melzenheim', squared off against two officious looking figures and their bevy of camouflaged guards. His spurs jangled as his fur collared cavalry coat opened to the breeze in the railway station. He was by all means an impressive figure, six and a quarter feet tall with salt and pepper hair swept back in fashion that would have sent shivers down the spine of 'women of a certain age' at a distance of fifty yards. His features were hard, his face appearing like a it was charging forward while the torso was staying still. Thigh high cavalry boots could not however disguise his limp, which he imperiously ignored so that with every uneven step his already harsh face wrinkled with either barely concealed pain, or contempt at a mere physical infirmity.

"Captain Lintz," He strode forward his escort hurrying to keep up. Rather than wearing the traditional cavalry sabre, he had a massive revolver strapped to one hip, and an equally impressive flask strapped to the other, "Minister Plenipotentiary of His Most Gracious Imperial Majesty the Emperor of Elect of Waldenburgers Cato the Second." He stopped, a polite distance away from the pair, and saluted smartly. "A rather smart looking train you have here," he attempted in the manner of small talk but his heavy, enchanting, if difficult Ibbelsguarder accent skewed the phrase to sound like a unfortunate stream of gibberish. "Very modern."

He caught the eye of one of the guards which had been drawn to his left sleeve where his arm was gesticulating as if whole, "You'll have to excuse my arm. I left it in Ibblesguard with some Yallakian gentlemen, along with the eye. But I've always felt two arms was just gaudy." He reached his remaining arm into his bag and removed a cigarette and a match. The latter of which he struck on the Order of Tyrrhenia, and applied to the former in a complicated series of movement. "Eh?" He blew a lavender scented cloud of smoke away from his hosts, "From the ashes, new life." On his chest the firebird raised its arms heavenwards, beckoning and shielding the billions it called its own.

PostPosted: Tue Jun 19, 2012 10:24 pm
by The Fanboyists
Filie cracked a small smile. "Well-met, Captain. It's good that--" and here, he had to mentally catch himself from saying "the Emperor," instead saying "His Excellency could send a representative, and clearly a survivor such as yourself." He mentally kicked himself, but his expression and tone had not changed throughout the phrase; Filie had years in the diplomatic service under his belt, and controlling his expression and voice was practically second-nature to him. And, regardless of who he happened to think was the legitimate Emperor of Waldenburg, it would not do at such a function to indicate any favoritism; thus far, the Allamunnic States were neutral, and that was largely fruit of his own work, regardless of his personal feelings. He followed his first statement with "I'm Andrew Filie. I'm the President of the Allamunnic States." A moment's pause and consideration, and he added, the smile growing even more genuine "And, although I appreciate that you're seeing to your own safety, I don't think you'll need to be using that cannon of yours," he said easily. "Rest easy. The Cataphracts won't let any violence occur here." It was true. The Cataphracts had a habit of fulfilling their objectives with a sharpness to complement their swiftness. And sharp was not simply a metaphor; they tended to eliminate threats quickly and ruthlessly. He leaned towards the Chancellor, indicating that she should introduce herself.

"I, Captain, am Amanda Haldstadt. I serve as Chancellor for the Allamunnic States." She left out that she was also, in an unofficial capacity, representing the Levantian branch of the Haldstadt family. If she was not mistaken, her distant cousin, Rudolf, would be representing the Waldenburg-based branch of the family, and would be on the train himself, although nearer to the back. A gust of wind blew snow onto the platform and had Amanda scrunching her collar up to cover her face as she extended her hand to shake Lintz's remaining one.

The Cataphract on the left, his name-tag reading "Kraegur," had been unable to resist a glance at Lintz's lack of an arm below the elbow. However, as luck would have it, the grizzled soldier bore the injury with fairly good humor, at least outwardly. The Skraeling even cracked a rejoining smile. "Aef ah maet sae, sur, ye'v dress'd duwn fur de ukkashun marvlessly, den." The Cataphract was clearly from the Skraelingian countryside; his accent was a thick one as well, and if he wasn't unintelligible, it certainly took some concentration to discern his words.

Filie couldn't resist getting in the last word, though. "The train? Yes, well, we try. Glad to know it's all working. Y'know, have to make sure all you diplomatic types stay in awe of us and such." A vaguely-mischievous grin punctuated the statement.


She spied down the platform to see Rudolf emerge quietly from a train car, his lone retainer accompanying him. Each only carried a single suitcase, and were dressed appropriately for the weather. Moreover, Rudolf did not seem bothered by it. Disengaging herself from Lintz and his companions, she slipped down the platform to intercept her kinsman.

"Rudolf!" she said levelly, her voice dripping with mock-cheer. Rudolf turned to face her, and a smile as wintry as the weather froze on his face. He and Amanda had never really gotten along all that well, but unfortunately, Maurice was not a diplomat in any sense, Fradrik was running the Principality, Regulus Devall was running Daarnhulm, and Arnulf, now a cripple himself, was still foundering about Waldenburg somewhere with what passed loosely for an army.

"Amy!" he replied, his voice betraying the frozen smile. "It's good to--" he trailed off as Amanda raised an eyebrow and tapped a booted toe, a look of vague amusement on her face.

"Please, Rudy, let's not pretend either of us is happy that you're here. It'd be insulting to us both." Rudolf simply shrugged and picked his bag back up. "I'm part of the welcome-wagon. Get inside the station, and you'll be in the motorcade with me when we head up to the estate there." Catching a look of displeasure fleeting by, she added "Look, I know how much you love me, but family is family. We're riding together, cousin."

"Did you hear me objecting?" he said with a chuckle. "I'm sure I'll manage. Any of the others come down for it?" Amanda snorted.

"What, for the actual summit? Why on earth would they do that? They're not leaders of this government. If you want a family reunion, we can arrange that later in Koenigshalloe. Just get inside before you catch your death. There's work to be done here." With that, Rudolf scooted his bag inside the door, accompanied by his retainer, Julius, while Amanda made her way back to the impromptu receiving line in time for the next delegate. Another gust blew more snow in her face. "Marvelous," she groaned under her breath.

PostPosted: Wed Jun 20, 2012 11:04 am
by Ossoria
Tara Silven, the recently-crowned High Queen of Ossoria, disembarked from the train not long after Captain Lintz, accompanied by two people who could only be her security detail. At immediately glance, the 24-year-old Tara was an unimpressive figure; her 163 cm/56 kg frame was easily dwarfed by her two companions, neither of whom were shorter than 192 cm nor weighed less than 87 kg of lean muscle and who wore the insignia of the Queen's Own Guards Company.

The High Kingdom of Ossoria was one of the few nations, particularly among those considered to be the great powers of Tyrrhenia, attending the Conference which was currently neutral in the great war on the Waldenburg continent. However, the war in the Sudkries region was becoming dangerously close to the Ossorian protectorate of Krune, which could drag the Kingdom into a conflict that it wanted to stay clear of.

Tara was even more adamant that Ossoria remain out of the war in Waldenburg due to an ongoing domestic crisis that she was desperately trying to keep under wraps even inside the High Kingdom, despite the rumors that were circulating the country and most likely even internationally. Her young age had seemingly provided her maternal uncle, Tegue Brenan the Ard Tiarna of Coirean, who had a theoretical claim to the throne through marriage, to put forward his claim, but Tara's claim as the Crown Princess had superseded his once she came of age at the age of 16. However, Brenan asserted that Tara was unfit to rule for any of a number of reasons, ranging from being a bastard, to not being the High King's daughter, to being a closet imbecile under the control of her ministers. Most of the clans were behind her, but a few clans that controlled inferior land or felt slighted or were truly believed his false accusations were on his side and calling for her abdication, an odd word to use since only a true monarch could abdicate the throne.

But the young monarch had to put her domestic concerns aside if she was to make a good impression to the other representatives, who would invariably report on her to their respective governments. With war threatening both at home and abroad, she had no other choice than to prevent the greater threat to her country before attending to her treasonous uncle and his followers.

She looked around as she stepped onto the platform and into the chilly air, quickly catching sight of the small welcome party. With the two Grenadiers in tow, she approached the Allamunnic representatives. "Tara Silven," she said, stopping in front of the groups and extending her hand to the man whose face she remembered as belonging to the Allamunnic President from her briefing papers, though she was unable to recall his name, "I'm representing the High Kingdom of Ossoria. It's a pleasure to be here."

PostPosted: Wed Jun 20, 2012 1:02 pm
by Rodarion
Tyrin Viktorda, the Menarci of the Divine Libraist Republic of Rodarion, the Doci’s right hand man, the number 2 in the Church’s hierarchy and the Doci’s bulldog. The decision to send him to the conference would ring bells in the other nation’s heads, usually the Rodarion government would keep the Doci and the Menarci at home and instead send in the Cardinal Cleric of Foreign Relations or a Cardinal Ambassador, but sending in the no.2 is a clear sign that Rodarion was going to be loud and stubborn. Viktorda according to the Menarci’s role was the leader of the official government in Rodarion, he was a powerful orator and joined the Doci on cooperative tv appearances and rallies, Viktorda was also a hardliner Libraist and staunch patriot and wasn’t going to let any other nation force Rodarion into a position of their benefit. Rodarion had changed over the past two years, its government had changed, its society had changed and its view on the region had changed. Its open aggressiveness had been turned into caution and intricate planning, its economy was booming and held alot more economic clout. The conference would see a new Rodarion, a new entity speaking up. Viktorda had arrived with the knowledge of what was to be said and what was to be demanded and conceeded, preparation for the conference had begun a month ago, the Clerical Council (the cabinet of Cardinals) had met numerous times and had agreed and drilled into Viktorda what was to be done. Rodarion maybe well sidelined during negotations but it would still make its voice heard regardless.

Viktorda was of slim build, 5ft 11 and was proud of his long red Cardinal robes and his red mitre hat, it was a symbol of honour and respect in Rodarion and indeed less positive notions outside Rodarion. Aboard the train as it pulled in he quickly finished his tragedy novel – the Navalan Tales – a Rodarion best seller, he put out his 12th cigarette of the day and downed his tea and prepared to depart the train. His aides took down the baggage and picked up their notes and folders and followed the clergyman off the carriage. The Rodarian team muttered amongst themselves, Viktorda remained silent, thinking deeply of what he was entering. Cardinal Atticus Typhara, his official deputy and aid-de-camp caught up to him and smiled to him.

“You well brother?” his aged friend asked him, holding onto his arm as the team stepped down onto the platform.

“Yes Atticus I am fine, this journey has taken a lot out of me, that’s all” Viktorda replied, sighing as he finished and carried on walking. He looked at the Allumanic before him and kept a straight face, waiting for the gentleman to show him the way.

PostPosted: Wed Jun 20, 2012 4:41 pm
by The Fanboyists
A keen observer would notice that Filie's smile ceased to reach his eyes when the envoy from Rodarion emerged from the train-car. The Libraist religion's hatred of Catholicism had turned Rodarion and Libraists into sort of boogeymen in the Federation, where Catholics were by far the majority of a Christian population that made up the vast majority of the country. Of course, nobody that had not known the man for years would realize that his politeness was a facade only, as he still stepped forward and shook the hands of the Rodarion envoys. "Menarci Viktorda, it's an honor to meet you. I am Andrew Filie. I serve as President of the Allamunnic States." He turned and indicated Amanda, then, who stepped forward.

"It's an honor, Menarci. I'm Amanda Haldstadt. I serve as Chancellor of the Allamunnic States." She shook his hand, though, following Allamunnic custom, she, much like Filie, had not bothered to remove her glove to shake hands. The Allamunnae were a practical people, and had never seen any reason to remove gloves when shaking hands in cold weather. After all, the logic went, it would be rude to ask someone to risk frostbite for the sake of a greeting. Hopefully, the envoys would be aware of the custom and would not be offended.

They repeated the greetings with Atticus, forced politeness still in place (again, not that anyone unfamiliar with them would have known it), and directed them to go inside the station, where it would be considerably more comfortable than in the increasingly-deep snow covering the platform. The High Queen of Ossoria followed the Rodarions out, and here the smiles became more genuine once again.

Filie nodded an acknowledgement. "It is good to meet you, Your Excellency." Again, there was a hope that an envoy had done their research; general Allamunnic practice held that anyone in a position of authority would usually receive a "Your Excellency," rather than anything more specific (such as, for instance "Your Highness" or "Your Majesty." And if there was anything the Allamunnae were good at, it was at not compromising their practices on their home turf; anyone from a Prime Minister to an Emperor would get the same "Your Excellency." Possibly, they'd get a "sir" or "ma'am." The trick was to listen to the tone or inflection of the words to tell what the speaker actually thought of one). "I am Andrew Filie, and I serve the Allamunnic States as President." Amanda followed with her introduction, shaking Tara's hand just as Filie had, before Filie added "and I expect you may wish to head inside. I'm given to understand it's rather chilly out here, but a thick mountain-man like myself can't be expected to tell the difference," he said with a cheerful smile. "It's good to have you with us, Ma'am."

PostPosted: Fri Jun 22, 2012 2:55 am
by Cukarica
The Imperium Romaniae had always been a nation of militarists, preferring to talk to their foes down the barrels of Cukarican guns. Simply it was the Cukarican way, their society, a proud warrior culture that sought to fight and improve themselves, as well as bring honor to their ancestors. However, the current conflict in Waldenburg, threatened to overshadow all conflicts of the times long passed. War on a scale beyond imagination, ethnic cleanings and genocides just outside Cukarican borders. However, they were soon introduced to the horrible events in the world as they watched various wars, ethnic cleansings, and genocides occur outside their borders. Cukaricans on the other hand, we're no strangers to genocide, but they sought to resolve this conflict in a more elegant manner, through diplomatic means, and that was the primary reason why Cukarican Imperium accepted the invitation to this conference.

For this reason, Imperator Maximus sent his son Prince Alexander and his right hand Consul Lucius Severus, "young and old lion" to see that Cukarican interests are recognized on the summit. Alexander was still relatively young, having almost no experience in diplomatic schemes, as he spent most of his time in the mountainous western regions of Cukarica with his unit. Still a rather naive when it came to diplomacy, he was accompanied by a veteran of the foreign affairs and Imperator's most trusted man, Consul Lucius Severus, well known among the diplomatic circles of Tyrrhenia, a man who had almost forty years of experience dealing with foreigners, crafting alliances and pacts. Prince Alexander would rely on the old man just as Licinius would rely on him as well. Quite strange due, for some people, a young heir and an old consul. Sending Licinius was a clever diplomatic ruse by Maximus as he sent his most experienced man to act on his behalf due to his unavailability to attend due to his rapidly deteriorating health, Liciniuswas the most senior official in the Cukarican executive branch of the government. Unlike the rest of the Senators, the office of Imperial Consul is a position that is held for life.

Alexander wasn't a very large man, but his stature and look was one that could strike fear into those who were to fight him on the battlefield. He wore a dark, ceremonial Legio Imperialis uniform one that was obviously used for important events such as this. This was a surprise since he normally wore his cloak, which held the Imperial Eagle on it, but to an event like this among equals, he chose to go without it. Once the train stopped, he and his entourage walked over to the Allamunic representatives, holding out his hand.

"Greetings, I'm Decurion Alexander of the Imperivm Romaniae, and this is Consul Lucius Severus." -Alexander preffered to be be called by rank, as the rank of decurion was something that he earned through sweat and blood with his men, unlike the title of Crown Prince.

OOC: God I hate these arrival posts.

PostPosted: Fri Jun 22, 2012 7:04 am
by Yallak
'What troubles you Myrcella?' demanded Baelin, finally fed up with his companions doleful mood. He had watched the Imperial State Commander sit in silence, sullenly staring out of a window while one hand fiddled mindlessly with the thumb-sized sapphire pendant that hung from a leather choker on her neck, for the majority of the flight from Yallak to the Allamunnic States, and now that it seemed that the train ride from from the airport to the conference would pass in the same fashion, Baelin, though loathe to do so, was forced to start prying.

'Just thinking,' she said apologetically. Her pale skin and tired sky blue eyes betrayed the fact that her concerns were more than just trifling thoughts and Baelin guessed that she was probably not sleeping properly. 'Things have been happening that don't quite add up of late. For instance, why am I here?'

Baelin chuckled quietly and attempted to lighten the mood. 'Isn't it obvious. You're a woman, you love talking, and where words can't convince the other delegates, you can just smile and bat your eyelids at them a few times.'

'Charming,' growled Myrcella, 'could you be any more insulting?'

'Of course I could,' protested Baelin, as if shocked that she would think that was the limit of his humour, but he quickly realised she wasn't really in the mood for joking and regained a serious composure. 'In all honesty though I'm not sure of the reason why. This kind of affair is certainly within Erkal's realm as the Administratum-General, but I believe that Sollonaal had a hand in seeing that you took his place. The Emperor ordered as much apparently.'

Myrcella did not seem impressed by the revelation. Though Sollonaal had at the best of times an abrupt, tactless and abrasive personality, she had been able to get along with him, for the most part, because she knew at the very least that when he spoke he was being completely truthful with his thoughts. That did not seem to be the case any more, however.

'And how is it that I can find no-one who has spoken to, or even seen, the Emperor in weeks and yet Sollonaal is passing on his orders like they meet daily for lunch?'

'A good question,' confirmed Baelin, but even as he spoke he felt the train come to a stop at the station and knew that the time for such talk was over for now, 'but one that will have to be discussed later I fear. No-one here must know that the Emperor is, by all accounts, missing. As far as anyone should be concerned, he is in Arrandin. Agreed?'

Myrcella nodded and then Baelin offered his hand and helped her to her feet. She flipped the hood of her dark blue High Council cloak over her long, wavy, chestnut hair and then stepped off the train and instantly regretted her choice of outfit. The icy wind cut right through the elegant, white, floor length silk dress she wore and forced her to pull the cloak of her office tightly around herself. She suspected it looked a bit inappropriate for a diplomatic visit but at least prevented her from spontaneously turning into an icicle.

Baelin emerged behind her and as could be expected of someone who spent half of his life in the far north of Yallak, he did not appear to notice the chill at all . He wore a black, groin length tunic which was trimmed in gold along with black leather pants and boots. The dark blue council cloak that was fastened around his neck by a gold clasp in the shape of the Imperial dragon emblem fluttered behind him in the breeze.

Together they lingered a moment, subtly making mental notes on the other delegates that had alighted the train earlier, before they too followed suit and presented themselves to the Allamunnic States President.

'President Andrew Filie I presume,' stated Baelin, clamping his right fist to his chest and bowing his head slightly in the traditional Yallakian manner. Beside him Myrcella just bowed her head gracefully. 'This is State Commander Myrcella Saroir and I am Baelin Tormal, High Lord of Kilrah. Our thanks for your hospitality.'

PostPosted: Fri Jun 22, 2012 10:20 am
by Laysley
"They say they need you, sir."

Fim was a lanky young soldier, with neat blonde hair, a well-meaning smile and absolutely no brains at all. Even he, however, had seen how Richard Carlyle was ageing. The ex-Patrician had left office ignobly with a lot to answer for in 2010, exiled dishonourably to the island of April while the 'democratic' government had systematically ripped apart the stability the Carlyle family had established and kept since the real revolution of 1658. This had taken its toll, with his grey hair reduced to the sides of his head and wrinkles that had once made him look hard had deepened into wrinkles that made him look old.

Nevertheless, sitting in front of a roaring fire, resplendent in tweed suit with a fine cravat, sipping contentedly at a whisky, safe from the ravages of the mainland and the outside world in general, Carlyle was still hard as nails. His combination of seething intelligence, an aura of charm and concern and educated political astuteness had earned him his little known but powerful reputation, and now Laysley had one last use for him.

"A conference! How delightful!" Carlyle beamed, before his face fell into sincerity which he accompanied with a nodding "A shame, of course, that we're down to last resorts, damnable luck isn't it." Then a beam "But most delightful from a personal perspective!"

Carlyle was getting up, something which Fim could not be expected to realise marked a gap in his once perfectly trimmed air of easy-goingness. The protestant work ethic that he kept behind closed doors was emerging, perhaps complemented by an unusual tinge of excitement of getting back into the action he could have been so successful in. Events, dear boy.

"Yes, sir." said Fim, meekly.

"Lead on!" Carlyle beamed again, masking the pain of hobbling on his stick. "Let us set the stars once again to flight!"

"Sorry sir?" said Fim, meeklier.

"Qualan poetry, old boy. There's a shelf of it in the other room."

PostPosted: Sun Jun 24, 2012 6:42 pm
by The Fanboyists
Filie's smile never wavered. He was, in point of fact, rather enjoying the opportunity to meet leaders from across Tyrrhenia; his time in the diplomatic corps of the Allamunnic States had mostly been spent improving relations with the nations that now made up the nation's eastern states, as well as their allies in Draakurr. Speaking of, they were supposed to have someone attending, as well, if he recalled...

He offered his hand to Alexander. "Decurion, is it? It's an honor, sir," he said. He was also acutely aware of the significance of the rank, at least in level, even if the Cvkarican military rank system differed greatly from the Allamunnic one. He could not be aware of why Alexander preferred it, of course, but if the man introduced himself a certain way, Filie certainly wouldn't argue with him. He greeted both Alexander and Consul Severus in the same way he had the other leaders. He introduced himself, pointed them towards Chancellor Haldstadt. After she'd made her introduction, she directed them inside where the other leaders had gone, and where, presumably, they were making small-talk as they waited for everyone to disembark and their baggage was reloaded into the motorcade.

Following shortly, but not too closely, to the Cvkaricans were the two Yallakian envoys. The woman, Filie noted, had not dressed well for the weather, evidently unaccustomed to mountains in the winter, apparently, and she looked troubled. The man with her seemed better-prepared for the weather, and appeared, at least at a perfunctory glance, to be in better spirits than his companion. They presented themselves and made their traditional gestures of respect. Remembering his research, he returned the appropriate gestures as best he could, followed with a small, polite chuckle. "I'm glad you could make it. I apologize for the low-temperature, State Commander. If it helps, it's much nicer inside, and at the estate." He then directed them both towards Amanda, who made her proper introductions and played things properly.

Next was the Laysleyan emissary, a man who Filie had met with before, during his time in the diplomatic corps. "Patrician Carlyle?" He asked, vaguely nonplussed. "I must say, I wasn't expecting to see you here on behalf of Laysley. That said, it is good to see you again. I trust your trip went well?" He greeted the young soldier accompanying him, as well as his shifty- and practically-Calvinist-looking adviser. "Welcome to Rone. Richard, I presume you already know who I am. For those of you who don't, I am Andrew Filie, President of the Allamunnic States. This is--"

Amanda took over her own greeting, as usual. "Amanda Haldstadt. Chancellor of the Allamunnic States. It is good to meet you all," she said pleasantly.

That was a good crop of them so far, but they weren't sure who else was left.

PostPosted: Mon Jun 25, 2012 4:25 pm
by Mykola
28 December 2013 - 11:30 PM
Vienna, Hapsburg Reich
Chancellor Hindenschloss's Office

"Gentleman, gentleman," the large man began, beckoning to the two men to take their seats.

"Now I am sure that you are aware of why I have called you to my office at this hour," he looked at both of the men, "I trust that your bags are packed?"

"Yes your excellency, I have."

Wilhelm von Herzland was a seasoned veteran of foreign diplomacy, spending the last fifteen years of his life serving as the Foreign Minister. All in all, he had spent over fifty years in the service of the Hapsburg Reich and, as a duke, was a man to be trusted to carry out the Emperor's will. He wore a spectacular knee length black Edwardian jacket, with a dual Albert pocket watch hanging from his black vest. His trousers were a shining black and his necktie matched this. Sitting upon his lap was a black top hat. In fact, the only thing that wasn't black was his white wing tipped dress shirt.

Sitting beside Herzland was the militaristic Rudolf von Hapsburg, Kaiser Franz Josef II's second son. Adorned on him was a spectacularly pressed Reichswächter uniform, fit for a king. The grayish blue uniform would have been worn by the same nobility a hundred years prior to the current date, but such was the state of Mykolan fashion. As usual, it was over a hundred years behind, and for that, Allumunaeic diplomats in Rone would pull pictures of royal meetings dated 1897 and glance at the Mykolans, and laugh at how deprived they were of modern attire.

Not much more could be said of the Chancellor's outfit, but he was not the one traveling to Rone.

"So gentleman, keep in mind. The Emperor's condition must not be known. Only may the Empirians know of what is happening. They must be aware that the country is at risk of falling into the hands of a madman," he pondered his words, "or rather already has."

The man stood up, followed by the other two.

"Well gentleman, you know your duty."

He shook both of their hands and they were on their way. A flight to Rone and then a twelve mile train ride.

29 December 2013 - 8:45 AM
Rone, Federation of the Allumunnic States
Rone Central

The two diplomats and their entourage exited the train, taking in the cool, brisk Rone air. Similar to Vienna, but comparatively cleaner to any other industrialized city in Mykola. Most cities were disgusting cess pools with stenches that could be smelt in whichever direction the wind blew.

Rudolf eyed the architecture of the station, nodding approvingly at the stonework, whispering to Herzland, "Now these people know how to build."

Herzland ignored the commend and proceeded to President Fillie and the Chancellor.

"Your excellency," he began, shaking the President's hand, "It is a pleasure to meet you in your wonderful country. It has been years since I have been here, it seems as though it has changed very little, but yet, that is not true."

Herzland caught himself for a moment, "Then again sir, the last time that I was here, we were still dealing with at least eighteen different families if my memory serves me correctly. Much simpler and efficient now, one nation, one ambassador."

PostPosted: Mon Jun 25, 2012 6:13 pm
by Sebaeria
“Glorious Founder,” came a soft voice, bringing the young woman within back into the world of the waking. “The other delegations are disembarking, should we do likewise?” Slowly, the young woman realized that she could not see the man who was speaking to her, which was to be suspecting as the car had been entirely separated for her- they had even rearranged some of the seats to allow them to place up a thick curtain which allowed the young woman to retreat into invisibility as she desired.

The curtain was not the only thing that was different about the Sebaerian Delegation’s car, they had also blacked out every window with similar black curtain, they had turned off every light, and instead illuminated the small area with burning incents of jasmine and other fine aromas, still it was possible that the other passengers would have preferred they travel in a more conventional manner. However, the other passengers meant as much to the Sebaerians as ants and thus, their potential discomfort or annoyance was not a thought that ever made it into their minds.

“You will be told when it is our time to depart.” The response was said in the most philosophical tone the exhausted woman could muster, she had not managed to sleep in what was approaching a solid day, the train ride, painfully brief, had been her first taste of sleep. Of course, the two members of the Inquisition outside had no idea that she was tired or that she had been sleeping, they thought she had reverted to her natural state, at one with the universe and life and spirit and existence.

“We await your approval,” he responded and she could hear him stepping away from the veil. Presumably both men had come to attention at the entrance to the girl’s private, makeshift room, to protect the Founder from any imagined threat. This was a diplomatic conference, and she had no reason to fear for her life- the Inquisition men even less so, to them, she was immortal.

“As does the world.” She responded in the same mystic tone as she moved across to a seat where she had placed her mirror. Gazing deeply into the mirror, she took a moment to comb the golden and amber locks of hair which had become rebellious during her brief slumber. In truth, it was a pointless measure as shortly after arranging her hair in a manner she thought looked good, she reluctantly placed a bald cap on her head, and her hair vanished beneath it. Like all other Founders, she was wearing a black suit which gripped to every curve on her body, but showed precisely zero skin, save only for the face which had become a comparatively pale oval, her eyes, bright and blue as robin eggs, stood out starkly from the black outfit and the pale skin of her pretty face.

She was aged just 21 years old, making her secretly one of the youngest rulers in the world. She had been selected specifically for her intelligence and her similar height, width, and general build to the Founder she had replaced. From her youth, she had been a strong follower and believer of the Founder’s- to her they had been gods. However, now she knew they were entirely mortal, which was the nation’s most safely guarded secret. After being selected to ascend to Founder, the government had taken extreme measures to ensure the young girl she had been at the time was dead- this including shooting down a civilian airliner and sentencing several to death. That had been three years ago, and today her identity was secure and she had grown used to being a god to the entirety of her nation’s populace- a Founder. She brushed these thoughts of what was past far into the depths of her mind and dawned the loose, hooded black cloak, black gloves, and black shoes of the Founder’s wardrobe. The final steps were simple enough, covering her beautiful blue eyes with contacts which were shockingly white, farther hiding her identity. The final step was the most famous, the face covering masks all Founder wore, but customized. This particular mask featured a top half bathed in gold, and a pearl white bottom half, save for gold lips.

“Let us depart,” she said as she exited the cloak, now a Founder by every measure. The two members of the Inquisition stiffened, and fell in line behind her as they made their way for the train’s exit. They were in the presence of a Founder, they were fortunate enough to bask in god’s glory every day, something none of the other delegates would be able to say.

The party of three was an odd one, the two men who were both members of the highest level of government, the Inquisition and a single god. Technically, the two men could act to diplomatically advise the Founder or to speak for her, however they would never dare to speak to one of their five gods with anything but approval and it was therefore fortunate she had already been briefed on the situation with as much detail as she could retain and then some. It appeared as though the hosting nation had stationed two diplomats or officials to meet with foreign dignitaries, and so the delegation approached, and came to a halt before the two individuals who represented the authority of their Federation. However, they said nothing for at least a moment before the Founder gave a slight nod of her head, following which the more senior of the two men with her stepped forward.

“We,” he said indicating to the other man and himself, “are Asade Shayrik and Gilal Tehron, who have the most excellent honor of escorting our Lord and glorious Founder here before you.” He said bowing his head deeply as he looked at the Founder. “We have arrived to observe the Conference and also to protect Sebaerian interest.” He said calmly, like every other diplomat he had worn gloves, this allowed him the ability to shake the hand of a foreigner without contaminating himself, though he was still not going to extent his own hand unless they did so first, just because he could touch them did not mean he had any desire to.

PostPosted: Wed Jun 27, 2012 9:20 pm
by The Fanboyists
Filie shrugged with a friendly smile. "I wouldn't know about that, Ambassador. It is good to be seeing you, and I'm glad you're enjoying the surroundings," he said cheerfully. "I daresay the last time you were here, it was Steven who was in charge. Or was it before that? Lord knows nobody deserved to deal with his predecessor," he said, making a face. It was fairly common knowledge that Grimmeberger's predecessor, Edward Giles, had been criminally-insane. His excesses had led to Grimmeberger's coup against him, and his subsequent execution. Of course, those who had been required to put up with Giles were few and far between; Grimmeberger had sent the last Patrician to his grave over thirty years ago, now.

Amanda stepped forward and shook the Mykolan ambassador and Prince's hands. "And I don't believe we've met, gentlemen. Amanda Haldstadt, Chancellor of the Allamunnic States," she said, her tone professional. She instructed them as to the procedure for each new arrival, to move inside and prepare for the motorcade. Of course, further smalltalk might occur.

Once the Mykolans were on their way, a most unusual emissary stepped forward. The Sebaerians had only recently become players on the Tyrrhenian stage, but it was hardly surprising that they had sent a representative. Of course, what Filie realized was that one of those they had sent, according to the relatively scant information available, was one of their own purported deities. Andrew, a practicing Catholic himself, didn't much believe that, but was uninclined to offend them. He kept his polite tone, but it was fairly obvious he was not particularly sure what to make of them. He extended his hand to the one who spoke, and introduced himself. "Andrew Filie. President of the Allamunnic States. It's an honor to welcome you all."

As they had with every other group of emissaries, Amanda then introduced herself to them. Both shook hands with the Inquisitor, and gave a friendly welcome overall, even if it was lacking some of the warmth that the others had received.

PostPosted: Thu Jun 28, 2012 6:14 pm
by Mykola
Herzland, whilst grasping Filie's hand firmly, pondered a moment, his eyes looking upwards.

"Yes Mister President, I do recall the late Mister Giles," he paused another moment, his face becoming much more earnest, then a slight grin coming over it, "that was back in the days when instead of having a personal relationship with my groundskeeper, I had a personal relationship with several dozen hotel managers."

Herzland proceeded to shake Amanda Haldstadt's hand, a pleasureful look coming across his face, one that typically lifted up someone's mood, thus the reason why Herzland had spent decades traveling the world at the behest of the von Hapsburgs.

"Ah Miss Haldstadt, it is truly a pleasure to meet you. The reputation of your family has preceded you."

Now turning so as to speak to both of the Allumunnic hosts, Herzland began again, "About fifteen years ago, I became Kaiser Franz Josef I's foreign minister. My days of living out of a suitcase were over, something that I am eternally grateful for, however, in that time I have had the pleasure in watching a certain young gentleman flourish."

Herzland turned a placed his hand on Rudolf's back.

"Mister Filie, Miss Haldstadt, may I introduce to you Rudolf, Archduke of Hapsburg and son of his imperial highness, Kaiser Franz Josef II."

Rudolf extended his hand forward with all the dignity expected of someone with his stature. He shook hands, and they were on their way.

PostPosted: Fri Jun 29, 2012 7:51 am
by The Fanboyists
Filie chuckled. "Steven is going to be in attendance at the estate. I'm sure he'd be glad to see you again," he said. "And it's very good to meet you, Archduke," he added. "Now, it's getting rather chilly, so we can speak further inside, or once we reach the estate. But it is good to be seeing the both of you," he said. In point of fact, Filie and the ambassador had met one another before, but it was only a vague recollection, years ago during Filie's time in the diplomatic corps, and at a meeting with plenty of other people.

Amanda gave an exceedingly-polite smile, and shook the ambassador's hand. "Thank you. I'll be sure to pass that on to Lord Johannes in Koenigshalloe the next time I see him," she said pleasantly. "And it is good to meet you, Archduke," she added. "I daresay we shall be seeing you later."

A few more people filed in: among others, the Archduke Gaarutt Ufdraakurr, representing his father, Prince Fradrik's and the island of Draakurr's interests, as well as the various governor's of the nation's states; it had been decided that, insofar as it was possible, the full Governor's Council should be present at the Conference. A few other assorted dignitaries filtered in, and, after greeting each of them personally and hearing that the train was all-clear, Andrew and Amanda followed them into the station.

The station's interior was cavernous, and its sloped ceiling was made of polished grey stone, as was much of the architecture. A few assorted skylights could be seen, although currently they were only able to half-fulfill their function, covered as they were by several inches of snow, the slope of the roof serving to keep it from every piling up too thick, and giving off that odd glow that snow seems to give so well. Large, well-carved columns loomed and separated off the side galleries and doorways from the high-vaulted central area. Four large staircases stood in each corner of the room, leading up to more doorways and portals to other platforms. A fountain stood in the middle, perhaps sixteen feet in diameter, and filled with water that practically glowed from the lights inside the basin. The Conference had been planned for well over a month, and the main interior had been blocked off for two hours for the emissaries' disembarkation, with alternate routes to the other platforms seen to for the few travelers being forced to move this time of year. The time from December 24th to January 1st was typical festival and holiday time for the Federation, and the Allamunnae piled much of their festivities into the winter; as such, most travelers had already reached their destinations at this point, and weren't due to leave for a few days, and a lot of business had taken a week-long hiatus. Filie found a convenient landing where he could see all of the gathered ambassadors, leaders and emissaries.

"Ladies and gentlemen, on behalf of the people and government of the Allamunnic States, we are glad you all could make it. Momentarily, the motorcade will be departing, once we have all boarded the appropriate vehicles. Our destination will be on the mountainside, at my family's estate, where we will be holding the Conference proper. The ride should not be any problem, perhaps somewhere between twenty to forty-five minutes, depending on visibility. Rest assured, all vehicles are appropriate for the weather. Chancellor Haldstadt and I shall see you there. Are there any questions?"

PostPosted: Thu Jul 05, 2012 1:21 pm
by The Fanboyists
The trip up to the estate went smoothly enough; the Allamunnae had lived in snowy lands for years. It was even suspected that the Allamunnae's ancestors had hailed from a northern clime, and the Stalhamarkers had been clearing roads and paths for centuries. As it was, there were no limousines in the motorcade; all of them were four-wheel-drive sport-utility vehicles, with high clearances and snow-tires. The drive itself wasn't too long, and though it was fairly chilly inside the cars, as well, it was infinitely more comfortable for most than it was on the platform.

The estate itself was positioned west of the city, and lay on the eastern side of a mountain. The estate bore a resemblance to a particularly spacious and luxurious hunting lodge; it was designed to be inhabited by a full household of Filies at a time, but was large enough to hold the entire House as of 1892. along with their retainers and the advisers necessary for the rulers of Stalhamark. As such, it was more than spacious enough to hold all the emissaries, as well as their retinues in a fair degree of comfort.

The estate itself was a complex of four buildings. Of less-consequence to the actual business of the Conference was the storehouse, which had the estate's larder, wine cellar, equipment shed, and, of course, the Filie's own microbrewery (which was the family's oldest source of money). Every building in the estate was connected to the others via underground tunnels, especially seeing as the buildings were laid out in a diamond to one another. The storehouse was dug into the mountain, and was the furthest west of the buildings. To its south was a guesthouse, which was capable of housing sixteen people in a high degree comfort. It had its own kitchen and dining room, as well as two sitting rooms, but it was not the main fixture of the estate. That was the Riverview House, as it was known. That one had room to house an additional twelve people, but it's primary function was as a pleasure-dome and meeting hall. Calling it a house, in point of fact, was misleading; it was constructed to resemble a castle, albeit without most of the defensive features inherent to one. As such, though residence space was in two of the wings, a great hall, where the meeting would be held (and configured to allow in a lot of sunlight), several sitting rooms, sunrooms, and parlors, and a large kitchen, meant to serve those using the great hall. The final wing was a servant's quarters, for the staff who chose to live on the estate, rather than in the nearby city, and capable of holding almost 30 people in a fair degree of comfort, if without the luxury found for those dwelling in the main residence and the guesthouse. Finally, a garage and stable-house had room for the motorcade, and was connected to the main house by a tunnel, allowing the dignitaries, once they had disembarked, to travel to the Riverview underground in the warmth.

The entire estate had the same decorative style, which, although richly-colored and well-made, was rather plain in its ornamentation; the most extravagant the Filie's had ever been in its construction and renovations was to have some rather nice lighting and water fixtures, and the courtyard that went between the four buildings was a well-tended garden in the spring and summer; as it was, it was covered in snow, right now. A low wall surrounded the estate, and a small orchard also stood on the mountain (apples, in case one was wondering) within the estate's boundaries.

All things considered, a fitting, if somewhat low-key place to hold a meeting of the great Tyrrhenian leaders.

As Filie and Haldstadt stepped out of their own vehicle, they stepped into the covered garage and, with the help of a few doormen, helped to direct the emissaries inside and into the main building. The process took about twenty minutes, not counting the process of relocating their luggage to appropriate quarters. As it was a winter morning, a brunch had been prepared in the great hall for the newly-arrived emissaries, to which Andrew directed them.

The great hall was, as might be expected, a large banquet hall. For dining purposes, there were two long tables down, and on a dais there was the table normally reserved for the heads of the branches of the family. Today, Filie would be disdaining it, and eating at the long table with the dignitaries, though he'd use it later to call the Conference officially to order. The walls were of a fairly light shade of grey, and there were many windows, and a few intersecting skylights that bathed the room in sunlight (or would, if the sun was shining). The ceiling was vaulted a good thirty or forty feet high, and the room was a bit chilly, if not overly unpleasant.

He turned to the dignitaries and said simply "I imagine you're at least a little hungry. We've had some food prepared for us all before we get officially started on this. It's Allamunnic custom anyways; a meal before negotiation tends to leave everyone in a better mood and more conducive to more friendly discussion." The spread on the table was a fairly impressive one, a more-or-less typical Allamunnic brunch with meats of various kinds (beef and pork, of course, and poultry, but also elk, venison, and wild boar), apples, pears, and, imported from the southeast, bananas (which Filie had a particular liking for). There was beer, wine, chilled milk, and apple juice to drink, and even a few types of cola and soda drink for those so-inclined. Eggs, too, and melon, and berries. The only thing that might surprise some was that, though the chairs were comfortable enough, they were of fairly plain and utilitarian wooden construction, with woolen-padded seats. The table was of similar plain construction. "So, enjoy, and we'll get started in an hour or two. And welcome!" he said cheerfully.

PostPosted: Thu Jul 05, 2012 3:53 pm
by Rodarion
Tyrin was quick to get to the food, the food aboard the plane and indeed the train were poor prefabricated crap as he put it, to see this lavish array of meats and vegetables was a relief to this exhausted gentleman, his aids soon followed suit and took several pieces of this cuisine. Tyrin was surprised to find Rodarian Nirida, a spiced sausage popular for a breakfast plate, he smiled and took some. However he was troubled, he wasn’t willing to sit next to the Cvkarican representative who was also heir to the throne, he however did wish to sit beside the Ossorian and Yallakian representatives as he held no negative but only positive thoughts for their nation, though views on Ossoria were mixed due to the religion they held so dear, but in his mind, its best to sit next to a friend and an acquaintance than a Cvkarican pig. He was also eager to avoid eye contact with the Cvkarican before the actual negotiations as to avoid a punch up as he did have a few hopes to smack another Catholic in the face before his time on god’s earth ended. But that was for another time perhaps.

As the Menarci finished piling his plate and filling his mug of tea he took his seat on the table, hoping for the Yallakian to sit on one side. He was so concerned he pulled out his pocket Arada and began praying to God for this small mercy, how this seemed to the other leaders was not cared by the clergyman, he finished praying to God after two minutes and awaited for his neighbours. He began to tuck in into his brunch and smiled at the good quality of food for them. He had his aid-de-camp Cardinal Atticus sit to his right, cutting off any “moron” from sitting next to him.

OOC apologies for the shit post, my creative is lacking recently :P

PostPosted: Thu Jul 05, 2012 7:49 pm
by Ossoria
Tara was also quite hungry, having forgone food in exchange for reviewing various topics of varying degrees of importance, and she joined the queue for the breakfast buffet. As she made her way down the line, she loaded her own plate with beef and various fruits, giving the venison a wide berth due to her religious belief that the deer was sacred, before collecting a cup of tea and moving off towards the table with her retainers in tow with their own meals.

She saw the Rodarion representative, whose name she had failed to commit to memory despite her best efforts, and decided to sit opposite him. Rodarion to her was something of an enigma, as many other states of convertive religions such as Libraism were to most Ossorians, who practiced a henotheistic and animistic religion that had resisted all attempts at national conversion, a fact that fostered national pride and made their culture more distinct. Despite this, she decided to meet with him, and one of her retainers whispered his name into her ear as they approached.

"Greetings, Menarci Viktorda," she said as she approached. "Do you mind if we join you?"

PostPosted: Thu Jul 05, 2012 10:28 pm
by Waldenburg 2
"I Intend to have some noted silversmith of the age craft a hook for me," Lintz had taken a liking to a small attache to Chancellor Haldstadt after the woman had directed a polite and seemingly un-engaging question about his most recent dismemberment. "For the romance of it, you see. Although," he frowned, and that action was a case study in the manipulation of scar tissue, "I imagine I shall have some difficulty with my steak."

The woman looked very ready to interject, possibly sensing some avenue of escape upcoming in the conversation but a storm was gathering on Lintz's face that did not bode well. "Regimental soup night," he suddenly cried in obvious lament, "Regimental soup night is going to be a disaster." His eyes wandered to the buffet tables where a steaming tureen garnered a look of inhuman envy, "And I fuckin' love soup." Lintz wandered over to the buffet tables and at random selected a morsel of meat and sampled it; the attache, despite herself, was drawn along in his wake: horrified and yet mesmerized.

"Perhaps," Lintz began before inserting a banana into his mouth to rip the peel off, "I could have some sort of modular set made. Little attachments for a soup spoon, a decent fork, and my hook." The banana was tossed down, half eaten, and a plate finally chosen. The Captain began to ladle various and bear sized portions onto the small porcelain circle. "There was a Lieutenant in my graduating class who had both his arms blown off in Chausey, and he a mechanical hand built that, by clockwork, separated his index and center finger every hour, and clamped them shut thirty seconds later. Could still smoke two packs a day." The Captain turned on his heel and directed his tangent and striding body towards the table. "Wonders of modern science dontchaknow, shame about the twelve feet of intestine and the lung but still."

Dignitaries were gathering and performing, what Gerd imagined as, the chief role of diplomats: picking over finger sandwiches and making small talk. For that he hated nearly every little egg head gathered in the tastefully decorated chamber. He imagine yolk dripping down from every inbred chin, running off of every receding brow. Of course they had not been in Bad Melzenheim, or in Waldenburg, even the most involved had not watched his own countrymen machine gun supplicants before a parish Church. They did not understand. They were a basket of painted eggs.

He spotted the telltale sign of a Yallakian; all mighty brow and haughty swagger. The Captain carefully put his plate down on the table by a vacant chair, "Guard this. It is property of His Majesty." He motioned to the attache, "It has been a singular pleasure, and it would grant me an eternity of bliss to turn our acquaintance into a more wonted habit." He bowed ever so slightly, and turned eyes locking like a missile guidance system on Lord Baelin. Within a few steps he was by Baelin's side.

"Mi'lord," Lintz tried to eyeball the man, realized he was not properly equipped, so settled for a well crafted smile. "Would you happen to know whether the Infinite Embassy has a lost and found box? I seem to have misplaced my bush," Lintz winked roguishly at the Yallakian woman, "I had some serious beating around it to do." His other eyeball almost fell out, "Alas! So I will invite you to brunch with me instead. It is the meal of gentlemen after all. And simply because your thrall are engaged in the wholesale slaughter of my countrymen and eradication of Christendom does not mean we can't be the best of chums. Eh?" Gerd smiled, or rather showed every one of his teeth. "I'm sure I will be enlightened by your light and gregarious conversational endeavours."

PostPosted: Fri Jul 06, 2012 12:43 am
by Sebaeria
The Sebaerian Delegation had failed to notice the cold and while it could be argued that was due to their rather thick clothing it was more likely a result of their homeland, where it was seldom not snowing and even more sparsely warm. Indeed, if the Sebaerians noticed anything about this land it was that it was, at the moment, somewhat comfortable- for a foreign land that was. As they entered the fine hall where this conference was to be held, they remained relatively unimpressed at the beautiful area it was an estate of interesting design to be sure, but much of it reminded them of the left overs of a monarchy, the fine bourgeois of it all that was. Monarchy was something that Sebaeria had long struggled with under the rule of an Archduke since its founding until the Archduke’s overthrow in the late 19th Century their greatest grievance about the backwards system was that one never knew from one crown to the next if they would live in a just and fair land or a corrupt and black one. The post-Revolution Sebaeria, under the leadership of the glorious Founders had proven to be far more efficient and productive for everyone involved.

The members of the Inquisition, Asade and Gilal, had both cast curious glances to the Founder when the man representing the Allamunnic States , whose name and rank the Sebaerians were far too arrogant to memorize, had spoken of food. Both men had tried to make their glimpses fast and undetectable, but she had noticed them, living a life in these clothes, living a life unable to walk down the street without people murmuring about your divinity, it sharpened ones senses and had made the Founder particularly aware of when people were staring at her, her black cloak and hood, her mask- these things had already brought her plenty of silent attention from the assembly of diplomats, she wondered if they knew she was watching them with just as much interest and intrigue, and likely with far more disgust, than they were watching her.

“You may partake if it so satisfies your desires.” It had been the question that were wondering, none of them had eaten on the train, she had been too preoccupied with sleep to worry about food, and they too busy ‘standing guard’ to ensure her safety while she, in their minds at least, reconnected with the spirit world and the universe. However, she was entirely aware of their response before they could even speak it, and waited, patiently counting the seconds before they confirmed what she had already determined.

“Our only desire is to serve glorious Founder.” They said, practically in unison, though it was possible that Gilal had spoken a fraction of a second sooner, to correct for this (not wanting to appear less loyal) Asade continued, “to waste time eating, before a god? We would much prefer to spend our limited time with glorious Founder basking in your holy glory.” Gilal then took in breath to speak, and, sensing acutely that this could go on for some time, she rose her hand to silence them.

“All will serve the Founders, in time.” She assured them. She took a moment to observe, it seemed the first to assault the food lines was the dignitary from the mad theocracy which obsessively pushed some flawed concept of religion onto their neighbors. Not to be outdone, the Ossorian Queen seemed equally savage in her pursuit of nourishment; all the while some veteran was speaking of one matter or another quite excitedly to a person who seemed to desire not to be listening. “Watch them, my children,” she said after another moment of silent observation, “how they swarm towards the food, devouring devilishly all in their wake until nothing remains, like locusts who lust to pull every speck of green from the world- and while they play the part of the locust now, they intend to also take up the role of the snake, deceitful and untrustworthy. These, my servants, are what the world has styled, diplomats.”

PostPosted: Fri Jul 06, 2012 8:38 am
by Laysley
"It's alright, Reverend Rolings, you're not a monk"

Carlyle flashed a wink at his clerical attendant, who was eyeing his port enviously while trying in vain to eat a plate of chicken politely. On the other side of them, Fim was eating enormous amounts of food extremely civilly.

"No, no" said Rolings, with a sigh "I haven't drunk in years, all those righteous old women running about the place, I'll be like an eighteen year old Turing docker on his stag do in moments."

Carlyle laughed with a mouth full, not a pretty sight. He chewed embarrassedly and swallowed. "Yes, yes, I remember the puritans from my time. But look, there's a bottle of that piss they call wine over there, go ahead, I'll cover you."

"Foul tempter!" Rolings laughed, then quietened "They have to keep the picture that our Church is as fun-hating as ever."

"Come off it!" Carlyle snorted "What have we got? A papist cripple, an insolent Yallakian snob, a hairy-palmed pseudo-pilgrim, one of those northern freaks, egg-head barbarian Ossorians, a gang of blue-blood Hapsburg spoilsports, a Cukarican who thinks he's Alectorus and, well" he too quietened "A tired old man. Our country doesn't have anything left to lose."

"It has its dignity, your excellency."

Carlyle sighed, looking wistfully at a bit of fish, while Fim mopped his face daintily with a little napkin his huge, muscular hands.

"Did you learn your manners from your grandmother?" said Carlyle, a little more viciously than was perhaps merited.

"Yes. She also told me never to drink alcohol in public." Fim's surprisingly cutting retorted (he almost never got witticisms, never mind had the ability to respond to them) might have thrown Carlyle, but he had his mind on other things.

"So she'd lash her own grandson with a belt in the name of politeness?" Carlyle instantly remarked. Fim scowled.

"That's Laysley all over, isn't it?"

PostPosted: Fri Jul 06, 2012 2:12 pm
by Mykola
Herzland, upon entering the banquet hall, breathed a sigh of relief has he unbuttoned his heavy Cashmere coat, leaving it with his entourage. He promptly stopped, stood straight, and grasped his coat by the lapels and shook it, albeit confidently. Rudolf, on the other hand, was much more military like, keeping a very stiff posture and a straight face. The elaborate banquet was nothing compared to home, but again, he was not in the Reichspalazt, but an estate in the Allumunnic States.

Herzland, accompanied by Rudolf, made his way over to the Cvkarican representatives. As Herzland approached Alexander and Severus, he brushed his mustache and then extended his hand.

"Hello," he paused a moment, stared into the man's eyes, pondering through the vast database of names and faces that he hand acquired over the years, "Decurion Alexander. It is a pleasure to meet you, I am Wilhelm von Herzland, Foreign Minister for His Imperial Highness, Kaiser Franz Josef II."

Turning to Rudolf, he introduced him.

"This is Crown Prince Rudolf von Hapsburg, although to military men such as yourself, you may prefer the title of 'Captain' Rudolf von Hapsburg."

Rudolf saluted the man, absorbing the energy that radiated off of him. What a soldier he thought.

Herzland looked at the two, "May we sit next to you?"

PostPosted: Fri Jul 06, 2012 2:41 pm
by The Fanboyists

As it was, Filie picked himself a spot next to the Layslians, when they had finally stopped waffling and seated themselves. He had grabbed a relatively light plate of food; his parents had raised him at times on fairly simple fare, and he had never lost his taste for deer hash. Say what anyone else would, he would always be a good Allamunnic boy at heart, raised on meat-and-potatoes and his mother's cooking. That much was unusual among many noble lines; despite their wealth, Michelle Filie had always been more than willing to cook for their family, and when she didn't, Michael had, and, in time, Walter, Andrew, and John had joined in that nightly duty. The family that eats together stays close, they had always thought.

So deer hash and a banana, along with some chilled milk. Stalhamark was dairy country, almost as much as it was potato and apple country, and it produced some very good milk. Filie had, again, taught to eat like someone "below his station" (as some might say), drank whole milk, and seating himself next to the Layslians and draping his coat on the back of the seat, greeted them jovially.

"'Ello! I hope the ride over wasn't too cold. Would it be a bother if I took a seat here?"

PostPosted: Fri Jul 06, 2012 2:55 pm
by Laysley
"I'd be honoured!" Chimed Carlyle cheerfully, over Fim's shoulder "Excellent wine, I must say."

Fim nodded happily, reeking of soap. Here was a man of simple civilisation, the kind Fim's grandma taught.

"The milk is very good sir, it's a shame the others don't appreciate it!" he said happily, waving his glass of milk a little militantly if entirely innocently "What kept you away from the drink and the sweets?"

"And, equally importantly" Carlyle interjected before Filie could speak "Was it the same thing that gave you the power you had today? Seems strange that you'd choose to spend the evening with an old man and his priest."

Rollings tried his best at a scowl at the world as a whole.

PostPosted: Fri Jul 06, 2012 3:10 pm
by The Fanboyists

He laughed. "I should hope so! Dad was always a bit of a wine person. I'm afraid Walt-- sorry, my oldest brother, picked up his tastes from him, so he seems to make a personal point of making sure what's here is good stuff, from time to time." As he sat, he heard both Fim and Carlyle's inquiries.

To the latter, he said, with obvious sarcasm, "Well, as you can see," he said, gesturing to several remaining open seats, "everywhere else was taken." Settling into his chair, he said to Fim "It's a bit early for that stuff, in my opinion. Nothing wrong with it, but with my first meal? Milk is good. I quite like milk, and Stalhamark has plenty of cows. If you like the milk, you should try the cheese." He gestured to what was on his plate. "Mum and Dad raised me on this stuff. John--sorry, my younger brother-- likes the finer stuff a little more, but this, this! It's a proper breakfast!" The last part was delivered with theatrical, overwrought gestures.

"Reverend, is something the matter?" he added. "There's no reason to be so sullen now! I'm sure there'll be discussion of recent events soon enough to make everyone unhappy. If you're pissed now, you'll be downright depressed by the time we're through with that," he added. He was reasonably sure that the priest's scowl was at least somewhat artificial.