NationStates

Posted: **Mon Apr 09, 2018 2:38 pm**

A loud slow-clap came from the door as a man walked in, "Bravo! Bravo! To that my emperor can agree! The dream of Gholgoth shall be realized indeed!" He took a seat upon the chair designated for Dephire, "We should toss out all of our threats and destructive behavior. Here is the new proposition on the table," He leaned forward and picked up an apple. "Captain Skaro, our two nations have been caught in an on-again-off-again type of romantic relationship since the dawn of time. We've had nothing but problems stemming from our vicinity to one another. A bunch of squabbling siblings crying about who poked who with a stick. Gholgoth has time and time again put on a demilitarized zone between us, which we both have more or less ignored. The point being, we hate each other and yet both must rely on each other." He took a large bite of the apple. "Your leadership may not like the proposal of a Fortress upon your doorstep, but the fact of the matter is that's too bad. There has always been a fortress at your doorstep, Skaro. Has your leadership ever considered that Fortress Cydonia is a bit of a hypocrisy to your claims??" A few flecks of apple juice sprayed out, landing on the table in front of the man. "There will be a Gholgoth recognized fortress whether you like it or not. We would prefer if you would approve of your brother-nation in stepping up. We have been tolerant of your existence." He finished the apple with two more bites, leaned back in the chair and propped his feet up onto the table. "However, our tolerance has been wearing thin ever since the whole Milograd incident. Though, we have also forgiven the Reich for its involvement with the Siegfried affair, so there's that for you. The 'Dread' Emperor is still hoping to patch up affairs with the Reich and even offer his assistance when and if it is called."

He smiled in a strangely unsettling way and then looked around the room, "Oh, where are my manners? I am Chancellor Adam Halsley of Briska. My emperor has asked that I convene on his behalf while he returns home to prepare for the funeral." He turned back to Skaro, "That's right, Empress Tynsei has passed, not that you would know nor care." He returned his attention to the council, "The Emperor Tristan Skragg has requested that I submit on his behalf his application to be the first Executor. He, in doing so, would also transfer his title of Gothic Lord to another if required. If this is not allowed, then I shall submit the request for myself. Shall we put all proposals to a vote?"

Posted: **Fri Apr 20, 2018 7:56 am**

Neo-Cydonia

The advance team of the Skyan Humanitarian Task Force Resurrection were four stark white Strider VTOL aircraft. They flew in low off the soot ridden shores of Neo-Cydonia each containing twenty Skyan Legionaries and equipment for setting up the initial camp.

”Resurection One to Kraven Air Arm Defence Coordination Tower, requesting permission to land at predetermined coordinates.”

“Think this is a trap Lieutenant?”, asked Corporal Jenkins.

Lieutenant Javier Aquila shook his head and forced a smile.

“We’re about to find out. If it is, they went through an awful lot of trouble to shoot down four birds.”

+++ Sector Four Four, permission to proceed, Vector 9-9, Landing zone Alpha.+++ came the cold mechanical reply, which was to be expected, even the instructions sounded like a foreign language and unless the pilot had been briefed beforehand on what to expect, that is exactly what it would have sounded like.

“Acknowledged Tower, moving into position.”

The four aircraft dipped down through the smoke of Neo-Cydonia’s factories, the smoke was thick and acrid, it began to reduce visibility drastically, making it almost impossible to gage exactly where they were in relation to the landing zone or the numerous smoke stacks and were adding to the noxious clouds that hung in the sky like a black stain, the craft began their vertical descent into a small field next to what the Skyans assumed was a warehouse.

Aquila’s pilot cursed as she switched to her instruments in order to see.

“Sir, these clouds aren't like anything I’ve flown through. It’s like... I dunno what it is, but I hate flying through it. It’s like snow, but worse.“

“It’s not snow.”, remarked First Sergeant Nate Dirk in a voice that sounded more like gravel. He had been with the Skyan Legion in almost every armed conflict since the First Kraven War.

“It’s all the ash and soot and industrial waste and gods know what else the Kraven’s feel they have to burn up. There’s so much of this stuff in the air that it turns this place into eternal winter.”

The four aircraft continued their descent. By the time the aircraft landed, the soot had stained the white hulls of the Striders.

Aquila took a deep breath.

“¡Escúchame! Best behavior; we’ve got a job to do. Let’s try not to make it any more complicated than we need to. Breathers up; this smoke and ash can’t be good for anyone.”

The Legionnaires put on their helmets putting a hand up to the side of the mask to push the old air out. Cool air flowed through the helmets as indicator lights lit up inside their internal heads up displays. One could still see most of their faces through the helmets, but the breathing gear obscured it a bit. As the rotors on Resurrection One spun down to a halt as the ramp on the rear of the aircraft hit the ground with a thud. Aquila walked down the ramp flanked by two other Legionaries and headed straight for the Kraven officer in charge. He lifted his helmet off his head and placed it on his hip trying not to breathe too heavily.

The scene before Aquila was like something from a horror movie, the visibility here was just as bad as above, with wisps of smoke drifting across the ground, the earth beneath his feet was what looked like snow, but with a brush of a boot revealed it to be thick ash that had piled up over a long period of time, another brush of the foot and the ash revealed a human skull staring blankly at the sky, its mouth agape in a silent, eternal scream...

“Madre de Dios! (Mother of God)”, Aguila said under his breath in Spanish.

He stepped carefully past the corpse and towards the Kraven commander. His sharp eyes recognized the insignia of Kraven’s eugenics division. He understood that this was the mostly likely part of the Kraven military to have been keeping track of the Jagites, but the thought of it still made his blood boil.

“Commander, My name is Knight-Lieutenant Javier Aquila. I am leading the advance party of the Skyan Humanitarian Task Force Resurrection. ”

Aquila paused for a moment to allow for a reaction he knew would never come. Years ago, he had served as a sniper in Heartbreak Company during the war in Vetalia. He and his squad had faced off against an Untersturmfuhrer Horst in a hostage situation. It had not ended well. Horst had been a human officer, but this particular officer must have been one of the machines.

The Kraven-SS Officer wore a heavy rebreather, his eyes obscured by the standard red optics of The Capitol Police barely acknowledged Aguila and his troops, Capitol Police stood about on guard and essentially had the aircraft surrounded, there was some radio chatter, cruel, harsh barking from the troopers comlinks, requesting instructions or confirming the arrival, it was almost impossible to understand…

The Officer looked at Aquila, then pointed towards a holding area, heavy set gates with vicious barbed wire stretching off into the gloom of the smog, it presumably held the Jagites or was a POW camp for the Fortresses newest inmates.

Aquila took a breath and started that direction. The Kraven officer marched alongside. Aguila continued, “The rest of our Task Force will arrive here in the next 72 hours. At this time, we request that we inspect the Jagite population.”

The Officer responded this time, his voice was cold and mechanical, amplified through a vox caster mounted onto his heavy great coat…

“Jagites are prepared for your inspection, The Reich is expecting the Task Force, preparations have been made.”

He put his helmet back on so he could breathe properly. The camp that the Jagites had been placed in was desolate, soot covered bodies hung from gallows all around the camp, some bodies were tangled up in the barbed wire walls, left to rot where the were shot, a reminder to those who thought of escape. People watched through other sections of the camp, their faces pressed against the barbed wire with hope in their eyes, but these were not Jagites, hope would not greet them today.

Soot and grime from nearby factories had covered the walls and the Kravenites hadn’t bothered to clean or repaint it. Any nature that had once inhabited the land was long eradicated. There were no birds chirping in trees. No squirrels or rabbits or any sort of wildlife that permeated the space where humankind lived. The only sound was the din of machinery. It was an unnatural space.

A soothing voice in entered into his head and broke through the din.

“Lieutenant, how are my patients?”, asked the voice of Dr. Eliza Sapelo.

Aquila clicked his communicator just as he saw the Jagite formation.

“Alive”

“Alive? I need a little more detail than that soldier boy!”

“Shhhhhh, ¡Mira!”, chided Aquila as he transmitted his visuals. He didn’t have to ask if she could see what he could see because he heard her gasp.

Aquila and the rest of the advance team had reached the camp.

The Jagites were lined up, all of them, in a matter of hours they had been dragged from their bunks, their makeshift homes, their dorm areas or their work stations and herded towards the entrance of their Camp, each of them wore clothes that had basically deteriorated into rags, some of them had been repaired, such is the tenacity of the Jagite race, they had made do with whatever they could find, eked out an existence in what is widely regarded as Hell on earth, but they looked tired, withdrawn, the skin around their cheekbones sucked in and taut, their ribs showing through the skin, some had deep sores, chemical burns and other lacerations, these people had stared into hell and yet still stood…

A slow steady fury began to build up in Aquila as he bore witness. His fists clenched as he marched. His heart beat like a drum pounding in his ears. He wasn’t sure how Squall did this act of his. How did he ever manage to contain this tempestuous indignation?

“Steady boys”, said the good doctor in the ears of the advance team. He had forgotten that Eliza could monitor anyone’s vitals she wanted to. Aquila looked to his right and to his left. He couldn’t see faces, but the body language of the team shown the the same mix of shock, horror and rage.

He gave an order.

“Helmets off everyone.”

He took a breath and removed his helmet once again. He placed the helmet on his hip and slowly brushed the soot off his chest of his white armor to show the Skyan Winged Lion. He allowed a moment for the Jagites to realize he wasn’t Kraven. For one thing, his skin was brown and didn’t have a frozen expression about him. Dirk took his helmet off and revealed his own dark skin. Jenkins took his helmet off and a flash of red hair could be seen. As the others removed their helmets, the Jagites would see the full variety of peoples that made the Skybound Republic.

They could not be Kraven. They were not the same.

Aquila took a deep breath as was his habit before speaking at a high volume and immediately fought off a cough. How did everyone here not instantly die from lung cancer? He forced himself to speak loudly and clearly without the aid of his suit’s amplifier. They needed to hear him and not the voicebox.

“Hello. My name is Lieutenant Javier Aquila of the Skybound Republic of Havensky.”

Aqulia knew that his words wouldn’t have any meaning. The Extermination War occurred before they Skyans had entered the region. He might as well have been from the moon. He gazed out into the crowd of ghosts for any signs of recognition.

“The Reich is transferring you to our custody and care. Your work duties will cease immediately. There will be several medical frigates which will arrive soon to render treatment for any illness or injury you might have. You will receive new clothes. We will set up temporary housing for you here where you will live until we can transport you away from this place.”

Aquila had purposefully neglected to mention that they would eventually be transported back to Jagada upon instructions from Eliza. The Skyans weren’t sure how much the Jagites here had gleaned from being imprisoned here. Skyan Stars and Signals felt that they might be under the impression that they were the last Jagites in existence. Having no idea the mental conditioning that the Reich might have performed, they would have to slowly acclimate them to the world outside of Neo-Cydonia. It would take time to bring them back to life.

Assuming of course, that they all made it off the island fortress alive.

* * * *

Citadel City

Atticus has a wild mix of emotions as the Chancellor of Dephire swaggered in. The first emotion was relief and some small joy that they were here and would cast a vote in favor of the reforms. There was a bit of horror and reluctance as he started to pushback against Skaro’s arguments. These were fair points, but Atticus desperately wanted to jump this hurdle first. Just… stay on target...almost there.

Then, obviously, the Crown Prince decided to speak again this time throwing an obscene amount of disinformation right on the table. A quick glance around the room gave him little reason to panic, but it was hard not to be frustrated by the Fenric’s fictitious fusillade.

Atticus summoned up his most clinical tone of voice and addressed the room.

“I would remind the Crown Prince that are currently in the midst of a vote. Throwing thousands of documents and testimonials of people under torture -- a method that has proven time and again to be an inaccurate source of truth -- is not relevant to the current motion. Indeed, under the reforms you could petition the Council to assign a Praetor to investigate your claims. There’s nothing here that gives Havensky and advantage here aside from living in a region that’s not constantly killing each other all the time.”

Atticus gestured to the room just as the Chancellor of Dephire walked in. He had another crazy mix of emotions, but kept his calm as it became evident that despite the kerfuffle about the location of the Fortress they were still going to vote for the proposal. He’d have to pull those two aside and work something out.

For the moment, the Lords were finally voting.

It continued for a bit until each of the Lords had either voted or abstained. As each Lord stated support or their opposition an aide wrote it down. After the time had passed, the aide confirmed the vote and passed the result to Atticus who was speaking at the chair position.

“There being seven votes for stand and the one against, the motion carries.”, spoke Atticus formerly. As he did so, he felt a wave of relief and victory wash over him. He physically felt all the stress of trying to put together the reforms and pulling the conference together lift afway.

He allowed himself a moment and then proceeded to the next item on the agenda.

“I thank the Lords for their vote in support of these reforms. May this be the start of the new era for the Region. While this is a great accomplishment, we have a lot of work ahead of us and I look forward to working with everyone to make these reforms a reality. The next item on our agenda will be to select an Executor. If you will permit me a moment to get us set up for this process. Might I suggest a fifteen minute break? After while, I’ll explain the procedure for voting for the Gothic Executor.”

* * * *

A young man in tennis shoes and a suit began running down one of the many stairways of the Citadel. He rushed down the hall of which contained the press offices of the Skyan capital. He was joined by half a dozen other journalists all rushing to report the news from the Gothic Chamber.

The Skyan World Service had two laptops setup with green tape was on one of the monitors and red on the other. Each respective laptop had two versions of the story. The first was that the reform vote had failed and that an uncertain future lay ahead. The other was that the reforms had passed and that the region would change in ways that would bring hope to the Skyan people.

The young man had run track in college and had pulled the assignment simply because he was the fastest reporter in the room and could get the story out first. The Secretary of State’s office had closed access to the proceedings to the press. It was an extra layer to negotiate with the other nations who didn’t have a free press and it meant that the democratic ones would have to watch their tongues. There wasn’t any civilian cell service on the Gothic Level as a security measure and so they couldn’t text out the result either. As a nod to wanting the press to have some degree of knowledge of what happened as soon as possible, the State Department had constructed a small flag stand outside of the Gothic Chamber. As soon as the vote was finalized, a guard had brought out a green flag and placed it in it’s stand signaling passage of the reforms.

The capitol editor was standing by the door as the young reporter ran down the hall. She opened the door for him and he blew into the office. He didn’t bother sitting down stopping just long enough to enter the vote count before hitting publish and letting the whole world know.

Posted: **Mon Apr 23, 2018 11:45 am**

With the Council adjourned, the Drakonian monarch had lead his party out of the Great Hall. The Skyans, ever the dutiful hosts, had prepared food for the Lords, their families, and their attendants. It was an impressive display, a taco bar. Anything you could ever want on a taco from the staples of beans and lettuce (of which there was even quite the international selection) to steak, kimchi, fish, and far more exotic international treats. You could even add fruit, as variety was prepared, such as pineapple and bananas.

Augustus Drake, however, had only given it a cursory look. He was not hungry. An overbearing sense of foreboding hung over him. The revelation that the Kraven Reich had proposed the reforms had been sitting in the back of his mind picking away bit by bit at his attention. That was no doubt part of the intention. But he could not help, but wonder what the Reich hoped to gain. Perhaps, it was. Everyone, it seemed to the Praetor, was playing for time. The Reich was content to consolidate its new holdings and grow and prepare its armies for next the next conquest. The Scandinvans also sought to secure their hold on Shen Almaru and to drive back the Macabean forces. The Skyans sought time in order push through their reforms in the hope that they would bring a lasting peace to Gholgoth. Even Drakonia sought to buy time to arm for what it saw as the inevitable coming war.

"I thought Drakonia supported the reforms?" It was Liliana. She never could leave her father alone to his darker moods.

Augustus smiled faintly, noticing she had uncharacteristically ignored the food. "We do, tacitly. Our very presence here confirms that."

"Then why did you abstain on the vote," she pressed. Drakonia's vote had no doubt not just come as a surprise to the Drakonian princess, but also to many in the Council chambers.

"Because, an interlocking system of personal relationships is far stronger than any legal framework." He gestured down the hallway in direction where the Great Hall lay.

"And the Council of Lords is proof of that," Liliana answered quick to follow her father's gaze and thought.

Augustus nodded. "It has existed so long borne solely on those relationships. We might fight and squabble, but we will always come back to the table to talk again as family. It has always been that way in Gholgoth."

His mind wandered back Dreadfire, Reaver, Dantes, and so many other fallen and long gone Lords. Dreadfire had held Gholgoth together through charisma and through building those personal relationships between the Lords. "And so, Drakonia supports the old ways. Every Lord a Sovereign. Damien Dreadfire might have been a first-among-equals, but he always insured that we were all equal."

It was not that the reforms were overly objectionable. The Fortresses were just a variation of defensive strategies in place in the past. Nor was the capital all that different was how ULE City had functioned during Dreadfire's life. The Executor and Praetors were ultimately just agents of the Council. The Executer, at best, was little better than a first-among-equals.

What he had dared not say was that Drakonia was threatened by Havensky and its new alliance. The Legal Framework put forward could just as easily be used against any nation thinking to throw back the Kravenic advance. Mille Mortifere, the Drakonian Islands in Gholgoth, were surrounded; Fortress Arcadia on the West and the Scandinvan Empire on the East. Drakonia now moved to remove one threat before the other was ready to strike. Soon enough, the Imperium would turn its gaze to the other threat. Someday, Havensky might go to war with Drakonia to stop it from starting a great war. A war which Drakonia knew was inevitable. For if it did not strike first, the eventually when it was fully prepared, the other would.

Moreover, Augustus knew fully well that sooner or later the reforms would fail or pass way, as had so many in the past. The hands of the Gholgothic Lords could only be tied for so long. Eventually, they would fall back into old habits and old feuds, or new feuds. It might be many years or only a few, but while change was a constant so too was entropy.

"Lamehkians are an interesting group."

Augustus had to bite back a paternal prohibition. He knew his daughter's curiosity and where it could carry her.

"They seem unlikely supporters of the reforms."

"Yes." The Praetor had to agree with his daughter. There was something intriguing about the Lamehkian delegation. He turned his head to follow her gaze. "There is some other reason to their presence here. Perhaps they seek to gain something not on the agenda."

"From the Skyans? The Council? Or someone else."

"Yes," Augustus replied, cryptically. "Everyone is here to gain something."

"And what?"

Augustus merely shrugged.

Liliana eyes lingered only a few seconds longer on the other delegations making their way into the room before the scent of food caught her attention. Finally, content to leave the threats of the future to the future, Augustus followed his daughter to the buffet, knowing full he would have to wait while she sampled absolutely everything unfamiliar to her.

Posted: **Mon Apr 30, 2018 5:39 pm**

OCC: Note, the vessels earlier described by Havensky are in fact ones I purchased from Yohannes.

"Let me tell you a tale Havenite, my people for over 5000 years have defended our Empire against the countless civilizations which have sought to destroy us. On a half dozen occasions has the very future of our people been tested by those who would exterminate us. Through the benevolence of the Almighty did we overcome each of these challenges and emerged stronger for them. Your presence in this region is merely a hiccup compared to the trials we have overcome in the past. Like them, shall we eventually defeat you. Like them shall you know the fury of the Dres'Erid," Crown Fenric matter of factly stated.

Going on he extolled," We know what the world of the sinners always has in store for us. We know that you despise everything that we are. We know that you aim to tear asunder everything that is righteous in this world. We know that you will resot to almost any measure that you deem prudent to undermine the strength of our people. From this understanding we were able to open an investigation into the death of my brother at what we first thought were a band of renegades acting independent of any significant outside influence."

"The notions that you peddle are ones designed to deflect any culpability of your own nation. You seek to assert that offering haven and a staging base to an enemy of a Gothic Lord is normal. That your trade ties justify you harboring their forces. You continue to construct an every deepening web of lies to hide any guilt on your part. Your words should not be taken seriously by any party of reason that is present here today," Fenric declared while facing his foe.

Turning his head towards the assembly he said," I have been reluctant to raise the issue, as it involves my murdered brother, it however is something which cannot be avoided when properly laying out the machinations of the Havenite government. Over the time since my full brother was killed at the hands of a renegade faction my security forces have been conducting a full investigation into the matter. After conducting interviews, raiding hundreds of locations, interrogating over a thousand traitors, reviewing countless records, and numerous other actions have we come to a fairly unexpected outcome. Something I believe that might well shock most of you."

Returning his gaze to the Havenites he continued," The Havenites have spent the few last years establishing an extensive network of agents within the Glorious Empire of the Scandinvans. The key point of contact seems to be a defector from my own nation an individual who formerly was called Lord Fylkir before his treason erased his right to claim any place in Scandinvan society. Furthermore, a few other defectors of lesser origins helped to set the framework for the infiltration of the Glorious Empire. These snakes helped to connect Havensky to a network of rats who created a fairly complex system of resistance to the rule of the sovereign throne of Erid."

With a tinge of anger he went on," Even a captain of my personal guard, who shall not be named by me though I shall reveal that Lord Bexar knows him well, joined their efforts to undermine my family's rule. His input directly gave away my location and that of my brother to a group of rebels who attempted to murder me. Though, thanks to the Sons of Erid brothers present, I was spared death a bomb was detonated which nonetheless claimed the life of my dear brother. After the survivors of this despicable outrage were rounded up they gave the names of their superiors after sufficient pressure was applied to them."

"The core of the conspiracy, according to the testimony of over a hundred individuals who had to be properly enlightened as to what their situation was before they confessed, was the backing of a network of 7 men who were the heads of the efforts. We, having captured them, gained every piece of info possible from them and determined that Havensky was behind the conspiracy to take my life and behind the successful murder of my dear brother. This is further attested in the documents which we have which provide clear evidence of communications and number of foreign conspires centered in Havensky or functioning as their agents elsewhere. Added on this is proof your government financing their activities to the tone of at least a billion standard dollars, supplying them with critical intelligence, and advising them on the proper path of action," Fenric coldly explained.

Pointing at the Havenite delegation he went on," Your government orchestrated the murder of my brother. Your agents sought to assassinate me and almost accomplished their task. Your pawn worked to spread a revolt in my nation and overthrow the government of a sovereign lord of a Gothic Lord. Your actions alone condemn you in the eyes of the sensible. We once sought to have friendly relations with you, but your actions have damned any such action. Never again will we be willing to trust such a duplicitous people. Know that justice shall be had.

Bowing his head he prayed," May the Almighty have mercy on us all and guide down the path of the righteous."

Looking back up he resumed," What you have is beyond the pale. You host invaders, you sow rebellion in Ghothic states, you undermine Scandinvan efforts to prevent Alleanean puppet governments from gaining a foothold in the region, you seek to murder Gothic Lords, you commit regicide against a member of a ruling house of the region, and you have the audacity to deny that you are culpable of any crime. In the end the day shall however not be yours. We dres'Erid will defend our existence those who seek our destruction and utter ruination."

Posted: **Sun May 13, 2018 6:01 pm**

Citadel City

Throughout the first half of the meeting Emperor Dengmu had remained silent. It was not that he had nothing to say; quite the contrary, much had occurred to him. Dengmu was, however, a politician before anything. Patience was his weapon, and it had struck the blow he needed. The Scandin Prince Fenric, for all his venom, had indicated a willingness to negotiate. The question of slavery, the question of Macabean sovereignty over some far-distant islands and their subsequent intervention into Gholgoth were all secondary concerns of the Pudite delegation here, Dengmu’s recent warm reception by Emperor Fedor notwithstanding. Dengmu’s first concern was the return of Shen Almaru and the maintenance of his position as a Gothic Lord. With these thoughts running through his mind Dengmu made his way slowly out of the chamber followed by his attendants, their staff and a healthy compliment of journalists. Academian Xian broke off once outside the chamber and offered an impromptu press conference to the assembled, largely Pudite, reporters. Noncommittal statements and vague predictions were the order of the day, the sort of thing any seasoned reporter would see through in an instant but which would appease the press long enough to give Otho and Dengmu a moment to confer.

Lucias Salvias Otho had not missed the Prince’s statement either. He was at the Emperor’s side as the two passed behind the assembled correspondents and made for the refreshments, more at Otho’s urging than Dengmu’s. “So,” Otho began, “You can’t have missed the Scandin Prince admitting he would be open to negotiations over Shen Almaru.” Dengmu shook his head, “No, I followed him. It was just before he accused me of leading an Allanean puppet government.” Dengmu snorted at the thought. Had Fenric ever seen his cities laid waste by nuclear arms? Had plague weapons ever run unchecked through the streets of his capital? Only when foreign armies stood on the holy ground of Fenric’s people and torn down their palaces would he know what a horror war truly was. To win the war against Allanea would have taken the lives of billions, and even as Dengmu imagined that would be a price Fenric would be quick to pay he was reminded that his own father had been willing to pay the same price. Dengmu’s father Shangjun would have seen all the glorious old cities of the Empire destroyed to make way for his new totalitarian paradigm. The peace Dengmu made had saved many lives, though it had come too late for many more. Almost two billion had perished in the Abolitionist War. Perhaps there would come a time when the Scandinvan Empire would be subjected to the same, but Dengmu would not wait for that day. He would have to deal with the zealots now, naive and boisterous as they were.

Dengmu’s reverie was broken by Otho, “If the Scandins are serious about convening talks then we’ll make arrangements to begin right away.” Otho was speaking as he piled his taco with anything that occurred to him, the vast selection piquing his curiosity immensely “I know just the man for the job.” Dengmu stood a safe distance away from the Special Representative as he attempted to wrap his overstuffed taco, watching as bits of peppers and sour cream tumbled out as he forced it together. “Not Cheng, assuredly,” the Emperor rejoined. Cheng Yuanji was the Pudite Ambassador to the Scandinvan Empire. From an old family, his politics were almost as conservative as his personality. “No,” Otho managed through a mouthful of duck confit and chopped kale, “Yuanji to set it up,” Otho finally swallowed his bite, “But he’s not a negotiator. I was thinking of Sandy.”

A smile appeared for just a moment on the Emperor’s face. Sandy Lyme, Special Envoy, had been a close confidant of Dengmu’s late father and was at the heart of many of the most sensitive diplomatic incidents over that period. Throughout his association with the old regime he had maintained an air of professionalism and engendered respect in many, Dengmu included. “Send word to the embassy, have Chancellor Zhao find out where he’s gotten to. Get Lyme on a plane as soon as possible.” Otho merely nodded in response this time, his mouth even more full than before as he struggled to finish his monstrous taco before it completely disintegrated. “The talks will commence, eventually. We cannot now abandon the course we’ve struck down with our new comrades-in-arms. I’ll not repay Fedor’s generosity,” at this Dengmu absentmindedly laid his hand on the hilt of the sword so recently gifted him, “With betrayal. Our conference with the Scandins will be negotiated from a position of strength.” Otho, having finished his taco, nodded affirmatively. “It is a grim task, but the battle has already been joined. I defer to you, my sovereign. The liberation of Shen Almaru will be achieved militarily before it is confirmed diplomatically.”

As the Emperor and the Ambassador conferred other members of the delegation spread themselves out among the conference-goers. Chai Sang of course was an exception, forbidden as he was from moving beyond arm’s reach of his sovereign. The old monk wasn’t one for snacks in any case. Tacos were not a customary option in the Imperial Palace, where most of the assembled took their meals, and most took full advantage. Kaeso Vorenius, still a teenager, had spent his entire life inside the palace and watched carefully those around him before attempting to assemble his own meal. Xian Longji, finally extracting himself from the press pool, opted for what might be described as a ‘traditional pudite taco’ featuring chicken topped with garlic, ginger and spicy oil. Otho’s own staff were more adventuresome and were seen with an eclectic mix of available ingredients haphazardly collected and even more haphazardly consumed. Caius Cominius Victricius, the stern and imposing commandant of the Imperial Life Guards, abstained from tacos entirely and took a position against the wall.

Approximately 1,200 nm South-East of the Shen Almaru archipelago

The drone circled lazily, awaiting a reply. The ninety thousand ton freighter carried on as if the hundred pound drone didn’t exist, just as it had the last ten minutes. The commercial vessel’s speed and heading were constant and no change had been signaled by lights, flags or radio. Some fifty miles away aboard the Emden-class light carrier INS Wind of Life a young naval rating let out a sign of derision and directed the drone to transmit their message again: “Daram Line bulk carrier Udire, your vessel has been seized as a prize of war by the Imperial Pudite Navy, change course to 2-3-7 and maintain speed. You will be boarded. Failure to comply will result in your loss.”

Electronics Technician Nutosh waited for a moment for any reply, but the big ship continued to give no indication the directives were going to be followed. Nutosh watched the camera feed from the drone as it circled the big ship again. He had seen no activity on the deck since they first made contact with the Pudite-flagged bulk carrier. Nutosh leaned back in his chair in the small compartment given over to his OS Division of the Ops department and turned toward Lt Doman, his division chief, “Contact M3 still not showing any sign of life, Lieutenant.”

The officer looked up from his station and made his way to Nutosh’s terminal, “No communications at all?” he queried, to which the younger seaman nodded affirmatively. “Nothing on our frequency, and OW hasn’t picked up anything going anywhere else either.” Lt Doman shook his head, “Well, if they’ve got a death wish I guess that makes us the genie.” The two men’s attention was drawn to the camera feed when a pair of F-41B naval fighters from the ship’s carrier air patrol dipped down low and slow about five hundred meters ahead of the Udine and tipped their wings, showing off a well adorned rack of missiles.

Doman straightened back up, “I’ll let Commander Lopak know they haven’t answered the second hail.” As he turned away, though, something else flashed across the screen that absorbed Nutosh’s attention. “Hang on, sir, we might have something going on here.” Nutosh took hold of the drone’s flight controls, keeping the camera trained on the stern of the ship. A figure had emerged from the bridge and was making their way quickly down some exterior stairs. Nutosh zoomed in while Doman returned to look over his shoulder.

The man aboard the Udine paused at the main deck and, after looking up the series of stairs behind him, turned toward the naval drone and began waving his arms, though it was hard to say what he might be attempting to signal. Suddenly, he looked back up the stairs, and Nutosh pulled back the camera to get the full picture. Someone else was descending the stairs, this one in a military-style uniform, and armed. The first man had begun again to flee, but it was to no end. The soldier fired as soon as he had a clear shot, putting three bullets in the back of the merchant sailor before turning back for the bridge. The uniform was that of the Imperial Guard Naval Corps. Nutosh earmarked a copy of the video for Doman to pass up the chain of command.

“Monitor the feed for awhile longer, prepare the final warning.” As soon as he had issued his directives to Nutosh Lt Doman was on the phone that connected his compartment to Operations Department Commander Lopak, his immediate superior. Nutosh queued up the second pre-recorded communication and waited. Lt Doman’s conversation was brief. He relayed some of it to the technicians of his division, “Contact M3, the freighter Udine, has been seized by forces of the Imperial Guard Naval Corps loyal to the renegade Shen Almaran government. Air Ops is pulling the fighters away,” Doman turned to Technician Nutosh in particular, “Issue the warning.”

A new message was broadcast to the Udire from the still-circling drone. Whether or not it was being received, it was impossible to know. “Failure to comply with the lawful orders of the Imperial Navy has resulted in the targeting of your vessel for destruction. Abandon ship. Survivors will be recovered.” Nutosh continued to watch the decks of the ship for any activity. He could see a pair of freefall lifeboats configured at the stern of the vessel and watched for their deployment especially.

Elsewhere aboard the Wind of Life a pair of missiles were being programmed. At this range it would take mere minutes to hit the offending vessel once the missiles launched; whatever crew remained aboard the ship would not have much time to make their escape. No further warnings would be issued, Nutosh knew. His job now was to record the engagement for subsequent assessment.

The missile impacts came without warning. The explosions, while large, were dwarfed by their massive target. They had done their job, however. The bulk carrier wrenched in the waves for a moment and then the hull at the points of impact sheared vertically. After that the ship tore nearly in half and started listing severely as she began to sink. Minutes after the impact the bow section was nearly submerged, though the stern stuck stubbornly to the surface. Suddenly, Nutosh watched as a half dozen uniformed men climbed into one of the stern lifeboats and dropped free into the churning waters. It would take some hours for a vessel to be in position to recover the lifeboat. Nutosh would be their only company until then.

In peacetime there would be approximately three hundred large cargo ships, from bulk carriers to container ships to liquid tankers, making their way in and out of the Shen Almaru archipelago every month, most heading for the large ports of Mazaraan, Ashkak and Zouab. Although tensions would likely have reduced that number there were still hundreds of commercial ships making the journey and some, no doubt, would be hauling war material for the Scandin forces embedded in the islands as well as for the hundreds of thousands of former Imperial Guard ground, naval and air corps personnel who had sided with Governor Lartius and Director White in the schism between the island’s government and the Pudite Empire.

At present there were some five hundred warships, including two hundred and fifty submarines, of the Imperial Pudite Navy stalking the waters around the archipelago. Although the surface squadrons maintained their distance from the islands the ring around Shen Almaru was nevertheless a tight one. Many ships elected to surrender when contacted by the Pudite warships, and those that did were directed to make their way toward the Mille Mortifere. Those ships would be boarded by navy pilot crews and security personnel at the earliest possible moment to secure the crew and cargo of the ship for internment. Commercial crews were released subsequent to an interview and brief investigation, though any suspected of ties to the coup government or the Scandin occupation forces would be held. Cargoes of a military nature would be confiscated, destined for the ever-enlarging Pudite stockpiles in the Drakonian archipelago while others would only be held until the conflict was over before being returned.

Millions of tons of cargo were being sunk or captured every month. Between the hundreds of warships and the dozens more long range, land based naval surveillance aircraft very little would be able to make it into Shen Almaru without the Navy’s knowledge and intervention.  

Posted: **Mon May 14, 2018 11:13 am**

Chancellor Halsley smiled as the delegation went to recess. He waited for a few minutes as the foreign leaders and ambassadors broke into small circles of discussion. Some members of the delegation migrated to the massive taco bar provided by the hosts. Halsley considered joining them, but he wanted to bide his time. His eyes glanced around the room and he noticed Skaro having a moment of internal dialogue. He watched the Kravenite consume an apple, every bite a chore it would seem. It was his only moment to appear courteous to the man. Halsley stood up from his chair, dusted off his jacket, and waltzed over to the man.

"These Skyan apples are certainly much sweeter than those of the Fortress Continent, no?" Halsley spoke while trying to break the frigid air, "Look, I did not mean to come off so crude, Skaro. However, I figured it was time to remind the other Goths in attendance just who they are dealing with. Our nations, on paper, must keep up appearances. Tristan himself understands that while he hates your nation, the Reich is a necessary evil to have." Halsley grabbed himself a tankard of beer, "We understand that the Reich wants the escapees back? Consider it done. Dramman had his fun purging those responsible for your little experiment's rampage. The survivors are being transported back to the Reich, some forty million if I remember correctly. I understand your country's unwavering denial of having any involvement with the Siegfried Hansolft experiment and we frankly do not give a damn. Just know that we are moving forward. Here," Halsley made sure no one was watching before slipping an envelope into the man's pocket, "That is your invitation to the funeral. I welcome the chance for our nations to be publicly seen rebuilding friendship." The Chancellor of Briska took another quick glance of the patrons before whispering into the man's ear, "This meeting was an excellent plan. We request that you help push for the Emperor to be the Executor and the Fortress to be built. Do this and I will guarantee certain luxuries to be granted in doing so." He winked, then bowed out so he could build himself the most impressive taco in history.

The envelope did indeed contain an invitation to Empress Tynsei Skragg's funeral, but there was a small memory card containing information of all prisoners being transported to the Reich via the DMZ. It included things like date of birth, blood type, genealogy, ailments, medical history, etc. More files contained plans for higher efficiency processing centers for the Reich. Finally, the last pieces of data were files recovered from the late Siegfried Hansolft including combat data and his journal. Halsley believed all the data to be useful for the Reich.

The Chancellor walked away from Skaro and towards the taco bar. His arms outstretched as he approached, "My, what a taco bar indeed! You have really quite outdone yourself, Atticus! Fantastic!" He grabbed a platter, because a plate would be too small, then started to build the largest taco he could dream of constructing. First he put in a layer of cheese, followed by meat, more cheese, guacamole, meat, nacho cheese, lettuce, tomato, meat, and even more cheese. The abomination he built made tears come to his eyes, and disgust to everyone's faces. He returned to the Dephirian chair and devoured the creation without so much as a breath between meaty bites. The belch he released afterwards was two for the record books; one for longest, and one for loudest. He slacked his belt and slouched in his chair, succumbing to the food coma that followed.

Posted: **Thu May 17, 2018 8:03 pm**

The Bag and the Tap Tavern
Homu District , Citadel City

Down in the Homu District where many of the civil servants of Havensky lived, the taverns were full and the screens were glued to all of the news channels. They anchors were killing time until real news happened.

The dress that Serena Malus is wearing! It’s incredible! Amazing craftsmanship and how it moves! That is going to make waves across the fashion industry in Havensky.

Even though it’s quite possible it was made by slave labor?

“Think it’ll work?”, asked Irene Motez as she sipped her martini.

Diana Maritsa shrugged, “I don’t think Atticus would have called the vote if he didn’t think he could win the vote.”

“I meant the actual plan. Praetors? A new capital?”

Diana furrowed her brow and she took a sip of bourbon as she checked the screens in the bar again. There was still no news so the anchors were just chit chatting about nothing.

“It’s hard to say without knowing who is getting picked for what. If there’s a steady reasonable person in the Executor’s chair, then I think we stand a halfway decent shot”

But this Nationstates: The Gathering… is it a distraction in schools or a fun way to learn geography?

I mean, there’s a time and place for everything…

“It’s too bad Atticus isn’t running for it.”

“Yeah, I don’t see why he doesn’t.”

“He thinks it’s too power-grabby. Gather an alliance against the slavers, propose this grand set of reforms - pass them - and then turn around and take the Dreadfire seat? All while trying to become the next Prime Minister?”

“This is Gholgoth. That’s exactly what he should do.”

“That’s not Atticus-”

Their conversation was interrupted by the trumpeting sound of breaking news.

This is Citadel calling… I’m Dax Falco with the Skyan World Service. We’ve just learned that the Gothic Council has passed the Gothic Reforms by a margin of seven to one. The Council will now move to elect a new Gothic Executor, a roster of Gothic Praetors, and a Castellan of the new regional capital of Pax Gothica to help manage its construction.

This vote will be seen here at home as a great victory for the Secretary of State and virtually assuring his victory in the upcoming elections for Prime Minister. Now, we’re being told that Havensky is not expected to put forth a candidate for Executor... The State Department is letting us know that they are concentrating on the passage and implementation of these reforms….

Cheers erupted in the tavern which had mostly been filled with employees of the State Department. The Gothic Summit had taken up an incredible amount of work and the passage of the reforms was proof it paid off. It also meant that the Skybound Republic would stay within the Gothic Alliance instead of breaking off. There would be a lot more work to be done, but for now, they could breathe a sigh of relief.

* * * *

Library District

While the Lords were debating the reform, the Emperor of the Golden Throne was out touring the city with Queen Jessica Heart and Edwidge Nalôrna.

Fedor’s presence had given Jessica a good reason not to be at the Gothic Council. She could have easily arranged to have another high ranking official escort the Emperor around the city. The Skybound Republic had a perfectly capable Prime Minister and she technically held more power than she did. The High Executor, the nation’s chief administrator, could have done this too. However, it allowed Atticus to take center stage at the Council without her own presence looming over him.

They had started the tour by taking a small airtaxi to Great Library of the Republic. The hull of the taxi was the size of an SUV with six propellers swung under each wing. The electric engines were quiet but still had a low hum as it flew across the city. Most of the buildings in Citadel City had green roofs, solar panels, and balconies adorned with gardens. For the most part, all of Citadel City’s roads were underground. At street level, it was mostly pedestrian walkways, bike lanes, entryways to the undertrain, all separated by greenery. The Salaam River split the island that the city was built on, but several other small waterways filtered in and out of the city.

The photos of Citadel City had always shown the massive art deco structure of the Citadel, the cathedral-like Great Library, or the supertall buildings that made up its downtown area. However, as the air taxi flew south towards the Library the smaller neighborhoods hidden between green belts of forests and skyfarms became evident.

“That’s the Homu District down below. It’s the first residential area that’s the farthest north right up next to the embassy and government areas. Each district has about a dozen neighborhoods. Homu tends to cater to singles and couples people while the Nest is more for families with kids.”, explained Edwidge.

Edwidge Nalôrna was the fiance of one Major Gavin Squall. She had long blonde hair and was dressed in a flowing Skyan blue dress with a several crisscrossed navy crosses reminiscent of the flag of the Golden Throne. The dress was in fact of her own design and she wore it with a gold bangle bracelet and a very shiny diamond engagement ring.

Jessica, who had served in the First Kraven War with Edwidge’s mother, was happy to sit back and let her play tour guide. She had honestly relieved she has been taking things in stride. The war had wrecked her grand plans for a big wedding. She was currently pointing out one of the A-frame shaped SkyFarms.

“The green belts separating the neighborhoods all have SkyFarms scattered about them. Each SkyFarm is about fifty stories and grows a variety of fruits and vegetables. Many of them grow fish on the bottom floors which is where a lot of the sushi in the city comes from.”

Fedor nodded. “Creative engineering,” he said. “The Skybound Republic certain brings...color to Gholgoth. It is refreshing.”

The taxi finally looped around and touched down on the deck of the Library’s airpad. The Queen’s Red Guard were already out in force decked out in crimson power armor. On each shoulder bore the symbol of the Broken Heart designating that this particular company of Legionaries belonged to Heartbreak Company.

The Great Library was one of the largest libraries in Gholgoth holding almost every book published in Gholgoth, Texas, Sondria, and Greater Deinstad. It was a Neo-Gothic skyscraper which stained glass depicting all manner of literary tales. Gargoyles in the shape of winged lions adored the outer edges of the roof. The top of the tower was crowned shape with a light embedded in the crown that could send a beam of blue light straight into the sky. At the base of the tower, fragments of famous locations had been embedded into the walls.

The Red Guard had cleared out an area for them to walk through including the lobby which held “SUE” the most complete t-rex skeleton in the region.

After a tour of the Library, they walked through the Library District towards the wall. Students at Citadel University stopped to snap pictures and called out their greetings to both heads of state. Queen Jessica Heart waved and continued her walk towards the Wall. Once again, Edwidge started playing tour guide.

“I actually graduated from Citadel U. The university mostly focuses on science, technology, business, and international relations. The diverse population here also serves as a great place to learn new languages. There’s always a bunch of international students here too.”

“My grandfather used to say that diversity lies at the heart of a great nation,” said Fedor. He asked, “What is it that you studied here?”

Edwidge flipped her hair to one side, "I double majored in fashion design and business."

Jessica smiled like a proud aunt, "Edwidge has her own fashion line."

"Well", Edwidge admitted modestly, "It's quite a small company at this point."

After some time, the party finally reached The Wall. Fedor remembered looking at the wall as he flew in and finding it to be an extremely tall stark white intimidating piece of architecture. However, from inside the city, the wall just looked green. The Skyans had planted thick ivy all over the wall so that when you looked up you simply say more of the greenbelt that the Skyans had placed all over the city.

Barbakán Kudadel, which held the company of Macabeean air defense troops that had been stationed at Citadel City, was located in a section of the wall not too far from the University. The Skyans had laid gold colored bricks above the entrance to their barracks to mark it as the Golden Throne section. The Macabeean trooper here had participated in the Battle of the Citadel and had been credited with 4 bomber kills - which to the Skyans had been enough to award them “Ace” status.

Queen Jessica Heart had decided that Fedor’s visit would be the perfect opportunity to award the unit the Royal Unit Citation and give the company commander a knighthood.

They entered the barren barracks where the company had gathered in formation. The Macabeean troops snapped to attention and then came down to one knee, while the commander bowed to the Emperor and too went down. After some handshakes and formalities Queen Jessica began to make a small speech.

“I wanted to take this opportunity to thank the Golden Throne for their aid in defense of this city. As you know, the Skyan Armada awards the title of Ace to any air defense unit that strikes down more than five airborne targets at any one time. During the Battle of the Citadel, Barbakán Kudadel shot down two bombers and five incoming pods saving untold lives. In gratitude for your actions, on the behalf and at the behest of the Skyan People, we award this company the Royal Unit Citation.”

At this point, the members of Heartbreak Company moved throughout the formation and awarded each member a small red ribbon adorned with an iron heart. The queen reached out her hand and the Captain of the Guard handed over his sword.

“Captain Lesit, for your leadership of the Barbakán Kudadel during the Battle of the Citadel. On the behalf and the behest of the Skyan People, I name you “The Steel Wind” and Heartknight Companion of the Skybound Republic of Havensky!”

She tapped each shoulder of Kapitán Lesit.

“Rise Sir Lesit”

As the ceremony ended, Fedor stepped forward. Kapitán Lesit, who was still kneeling, bellowed, “The emperor, His Imperial Majesty Fedor, speaks!”

“Your service to the empire was truly heroic,” began Fedor, his voice thick with pride. It was not often that the emperor spoke to you, never for most normal people in fact. Fedor lived his life largely in privacy. The public knew only his image. The men would feel good, then, that their emperor was proud of them. “Your sacrifice here, fighting alongside our Skyan allies, is known and it weighs heavy. Our allies have made sacrifices of their own to provide us support in our mission of willed justice against the Scandinvan Empire. You soldiers helped to strike the first blow against the enemy and that shall never be forgotten. For your bravery, you will all be bestowed an imperial cross” — two crossed swords that celebrated a battle the soldier had survived —, “and there is plenty more awaiting you back home when you are rotated out. All good emperors must rely on good men, and certainly, all of you are deserving of title. I reward my good men well. I look forward to hearing of your exploits again and it would be a great honor of mine to visit this unit a second time. I am certain that Will herself will cross our paths once more.”

“This war is a fight for the very soul of humanity, freedom. Never forget that,” he said lastly. The emperor’s gaze touch them all and then he turned and left. It was an experience like none other for these soldiers to have been in his presence even for the short time they had been. It was a story they would tell their grandchildren. The day they met His Imperial Majesty Fedor.

After the ceremony, they caught an air taxi to the Nest District to see a ‘real’ Skyan neighborhood. Once on the ground, it became obvious where the district got its name. It was surrounded by green belts and the streets were lined with tall trees with long branches almost like a bird’s nest. Although, Edwidge was quick to point out her new home was called the Lion’s Nest explaining that each neighborhood within the nest was named after some kind of animal.

The buildings in the Nest were no more than twelve stories tall at the most. While it wasn’t as crowded as the super urban area of Grand Crossing, the area still felt busy with the sounds of children running around everywhere. The first floors of many of the buildings contained small shops, restaurants, and taverns which were doing brisk business. The sound of news from the Gothic Summit could be heard coming from a few of the taverns.

At the end of the Nest, a large Scandivan bomber lay in ruin in a park. It had been hit by a Skyan missile which had cracked it in two. A large iron fence had surrounded it so nobody could touch it. At the fence lay flowers for the uniformed police and military who had died defending the city.

“The city’s defenses held up well,” said Fedor. He studied the crash as he spoke. “The Scandivan attack was an audacious one, I will give them that. Foolish. Maybe. That would be convenient, wouldn’t it? No, I suspect there is a bigger picture. Something for me to mull about, anyway.”

They were interrupted by a member of the Guard passing the Queen a small note.

“The Reforms have passed. We could head back to the Citadel now or…”, she gestured to a nearby pub, “Would could stop for a drink and join in on the celebration.”

The group waited outside “The Questioning Quill” while the Red Guard cleared a space and secured the venue. As they walked in the crowd that had gathered to watch the proceedings erupted as they jostled to get pictures.

Jessica raised a hand, “Thank you, everyone! We just heard the news and wanted to stop by and have a drink to celebrate. We’re all very proud of the work that Secretary of State Atticus and the entire State Department has done to advance the cause of peace in the region.”

With a few more waves, she motioned Edwidge and Fedor into the booth. The, now very frantic, pub owner appeared at once and asked what they wanted to drink. Jessica ordered an imperial stout and Edwidge the saison. The pub owner then turned to Fedor to take his order.

“No, thank you,” replied the emperor.

Within a few seconds, Jessica’s statement appeared on the different screens at the bar.

“Aunt Jessica, how did you know that a world service reporter would be here with a camera good enough to catch that?”

Jessica laughed, “Easy, I asked the press office which bar in the nest would have the most reporters.”

The bar owner quickly brought their drinks and provided Fedor with a tall glass of water. He bowed slightly as he left the group to their refreshments.

The crowd in the pub had a lot more clientele then just journalists. It gave Edwidge and Jessica a chance to get a sense of what people were thinking about the whole ordeal. Most people were shown to be in a festive hopeful mood and Jessica hoped they wouldn’t be disappointed.

* * * *

When everyone returned from the break, the snake-like hydra head on the large podium up front had been lowered to reveal fifteen boxes that formed a bowl shape. On the roundtable, there were opened cases revealing a large iron coin.

The coin was extremely heavy when held in one’s hand in an almost unnatural way. It couldn’t have been lead as that would be irresponsible, but it felt heavier than iron. On the head of the coin was a black Gothic Hydra surrounded by a sea of copper like some dark destroyer coming out of a pool of blood. On the tail side of the coin was a Crimson King tree was its leaves inlaid with reddish copper and gold and it’s trunk in brass. The tree was embedded in white gold causing the tree to stand out starkly. The tree and the hydra mirrored on another in their shape and connotation. The monster was dangerous and the tree benign. The coin was a half an inch thick and weathered on the side making it look much older than it was. The Skyans had asked the Drakonian craftsman to design and craft the coins. The craftsmanship of the coins was such that it would have been extremely difficult to forge these coins even if one knew what they looked like.

As people were seated, Atticus stepped up to the podium to explain.

“Each of you has what we’ll refer to as the Lord’s Coin. There is one for each of you and you will find they are exactly alike. I have boxes for each Gothic Lord save for Queen Jessica Heart. The vote for Executor will be simple. Each of you will step up to the boxes and place your coin in the box belonging to your choice for Executor. The Gothic Nation with the most coins will become the new Executor. As the Skybound Republic is administering this vote we will not be running for Executor.

I will now call upon each of you to speak as to whom you believe the best choice for Executor is. Voting will begin when we all have said their piece.”

Posted: **Fri May 18, 2018 8:42 am**

Halsley examined the crude coin in his hand. He did not like the coin and was eager to get rid of it as soon as possible. His eyes gauged the room, I fear people will either vote for themselves or vote for people who haven't even been in attendance. The Chancellor's thoughts grasped at each possible scenario and their outcomes. Most were not going to be acceptable, he acknowledged that truth. If the outcome was in disfavor of Dephire, then he would simply push Tristan to pull out of the reforms. The thought amused the man as he flicked the coin in the air and caught it on his palm, Heads. He wondered how the others would vote. Rumor had it that certain members of the congregation may push someone in who has never been as involved in the conflicts as in depth as others. Those particular thoughts sent shivers up his spine. Adam was sure that others may begin speaking, so he excused himself to the restrooms as the taco was not the best delicacy for a delicate digestive system, or so he told the group as he slipped out into the hall. Once in the restroom, he began sending frantic messages to the Defiance asking for the Emperor's advice and was startled when the phone rang.

"This is Adam." He answered, heart beating faster than a drumline.

"Adam, I have you there to take care of the situation. I have full confidence in you that everything will be done to the best of your ability. Just get it done."

"Yes, sir. I will wrap up everything here." The chancellor was shaking as he flushed the toilet and proceeded to wash he hands.

"Are you still the right man for the job?" The voice spoke coldly.

"Yes, sir. I am the best man for the job! I promise to not disappoint!" He dried off his hands as the call disconnected. "Well, shit..." Halsley said under his breath.

The chancellor returned to the meeting with even more thoughts on his mind. He noticed no one had started to speak, so he decided to take the floor.

"Hello again! I am Chancellor Adam Halsley of Briska, a region of Dephire. As you all know, I am my emperor's stand-in as he has funeral preparations to attend to. I stand here on his behalf to present to you his candidacy for Executor. Now, why should you consider a man to be the executor when he stormed out as he did? Let's take a look back at history. Several years back, Tristan and his fellow Templars stormed the beaches of Milograd to help liberate the nation of the Reich's hold. Some of you may remember the flash of white and tan coats help take large chunks from the grabby hands of the jackboots. What prize did he get for his service? His father's death and being thrown into prison by his uncle. From there the man was beaten, tortured, and went through all sorts of horrors that would make the most iron-willed squeamish. Yes, even you, Skaro. However, even being put near death, he escaped the prison and returned home to take back the throne. He did so with spectacular fashion!

As Emperor of Dephire, Tristan took it upon himself to try and rid Gholgoth of anyone who attempted to oppress. He had his armies march into Milograd as the second Kraven invasion took hold. Tristan ended helped bring an end to that war. He took responsibility for the lands after the war concluded by tasking several thousand engineers to migrate to Milograd to rebuild.

My emperor is a man who has shown mercy when warranted. When Wilhelm was captured, Tristan forgave him for his sins. Wilhelm then would go on to reclaim large portions of Milograd during the second war and to help lead to the rescue of then Lady Jessica Heart. Tristan's mercy has even extended to many other Gholgoth nations. During the second Milograd War, many ships were destroyed when an ill-informed ruler decided to lash out against Dephire before getting all the facts. Another nation would also bomb many of Dephire's coastal cities. Tristan forgave them and even offered his neck if it were to make them understand.

In the third conflict with the Reich over Hab Centre 6, if I recall the name correctly... Skaro? Tristan sent in several fleets to help in rescue efforts. When the Scands decided to bombard Havensky, Tristan sent the entire naval armada. Further, when the Scands still refused to back off, he had the armada chase them down." Adam took a pause to down an entire glass of water. I am not going to say that Tristan Skragg is perfect, but he is one of the most dedicated leaders in this room when it comes to getting things done. He is not going to simply back down when the odds are stacked against him. Some of you would not be here today if it weren't for him. Despite his wife's fleeting life, he came here to address concerns about the reforms and will be pleased to hear they were approved. Thank you, that is all I have to say at the moment."

Posted: **Sun May 20, 2018 12:09 am**

From his position behind Praetor Augustus Drake, Caius Argentius, Lord of Mille Mortifere could see that the Gholgothic Lords were impressed by the Captain Skaro's speech. The Kravenite had spoken well. The Lords would respect his frankness even as they may fear the Reich. Caius could see even Augustus Drake was watching the Kravenite keenly. He waited for him to sit and then spoke. "But can you bring peace to Gholgoth," Augustus called boldy across the table.

"Can anyone of us," he continued. "Can we rise above the petty interests of our empires and do what is necessary to end our squabblings?"

He paused, scanning the table, looking to each of the Lords in turn. "Damien Dreadfire brought peace to Gholgoth by building personal relationships amongst the Council of Gholgothic Lords. We put aside our differences and power politics and got to know one another. We became brothers and through that bond built peace. The region was at peace and we secured it from external threats." The Drakonian Monarch’s eyes drew to Atticus for the Macabean Emperor was not here.

"I came here to do something I have not done before." He addressed the Skyan Representative, and then return to scanning the Lords. "I came to see Gholgoth. I brought my precious daughter here, to build the relationships necessary to insure the future peace of this great region." He to look over his shoulder, back to the table behind him where Lilliana Drake and Lord Argentius sat.

Finally, his eyes returned to the Kravenite. "If you, Captain Skaro, can build that bond. You shall have my vote." His hand fell to the coin made by the finest Drakonian metalworkers. "If there is another." He again looked to the other Lords. "They shall have my vote."

Posted: **Mon May 21, 2018 1:16 am**

Citadel City

Following the brief recess the Pudite delegation to the council had returned to their steely silence, watching the proceedings with an air of aloofness. Emperor Dengmu had no desire whatsoever to be named Executor, but he did have an interest in selecting one to fill the post with whom he could see eye to eye. The appeal of the hard Kravenite navy man was his honesty and unwavering nature, though Dengmu doubted he or his subordinates would interface well with Dengmu’s own. The statement of the Drakonian Praetor had put to words precisely what Dengmu was looking for, and that turned the emperor’s attention back to the nervous Briskan Chancellor. Could Tristan forge those bonds between the Lords? Or would the man’s hot temper and brusque character push away those he might volunteer to lead? As Dengmu continued to weigh carefully the arguments being presented he held the coin that signified his vote in his hand, turning it over absentmindedly, feeling the weight of it, and the weight of the proceedings it would be symbolic of.

As the Lords conversed Ambassador Otho and the other junior staff present remained quiet, taking occasional notes, marking up copies of documents for each-other to peruse. Captain Pestrukhin, Otho’s military attache, and Olifer Golub of the Intelligence Service were seated on either side of Lucius Otho, which kept the ambassador apprised of their discussions. Suddenly, Golub dropped his pen and reached for his pants pocket. He opened some glowing display for a split second before he abruptly stood up and made his way as unobtrusively as possible out of the room. Otho looked on in silence as this happened, his quizzical look growing more pronounced as he watched him leave. Just as Otho was about to shoot a ‘what was that about’ look to Captain Pestrukhin on his other side he noticed the military man seemingly infected by the same pathogen. Pestrukhin received a message, stood up, and this time Otho was saved from utter incredulousness only when the captain looked back at him and nodded his head toward the door, clearly directing Otho to accompany him.

The pair exited the room to find Korinna Ariosto, the ambassador’s press liaison, looking pleadingly at them. Golub was nowhere to be seen. Otho grabbed Captain Pestrukhin by the shoulder and spun him around, “Hold on, I need...” he stopped. His phone buzzed once in his pocket. It was a message from the embassy instructing Otho to call them, and he knew they didn’t mean on a cell phone. “Golub’s already in the clean room.” Korinna Ariosto cut in, speaking under her breath with a public relations specialists concern for being overheard. “Do you know what this is?” She asked, her voice low and filled with tension. Otho shook his head ‘no’.

The three of them shortly joined Olifer Golub in the communications clean room that had been set up in the Pudite suite at the Citadel. The room had a hard line to the Pudite embassy in the city, which was already carrying a video feed to a laptop Golub had set up. At the moment there was no-one on screen. Golub didn’t stand, hardly turning his head, when Otho and the others entered. Moments later Zhao Chen, Imperial Pudite Chancellor of State, stepped into the picture. He had accompanied the Emperor and the delegation to Citadel City, but had been taking other meetings in the embassy and elsewhere and hadn’t accompanied them to the summit meeting. He wore a look of grave seriousness, and spoke with that same sensibility. As he began he glanced at his watch, “Nineteen minutes ago, a nuclear explosion was detected approximately six hundred miles west of Mille Mortifere. We believe it to have been the detonation of an eleven kiloton warhead mounted on a torpedo. The target of the attack was DN-67, the dreadnought INS Pudu Xiang Wu.”

A slew of questions followed the revelation. Korinna asked after who else might know about the explosion: “Anyone with the right satellites will have detected the explosion. Additionally, the blast would leave an obvious radar blackout over the fleet detectable by any long range radars.” Golub asked if the aggressor had been determined: “Not with certainty. Circumstantially, we can deduce it was the pirate and rebel Shun Lao who was responsible. A message received by our embassy in Aldarminia following the attack suggests this is the case.” Captain Pestrukhin enquired after the ship and its crew: “The INS Pudu Xiang Wu sank completely nine minutes after the explosion. The torpedo appeared to have struck near the stern, numbers for the crew aren’t available yet but most are assumed lost. Some crew have been recovered, suffering from burns as well as acute radiation syndrome. Two nearby corvettes were also caught in the blast. One has sunk, the other is fighting a fire on board but will survive.” Otho’s question was about the other two Dreadfire-class dreadnoughts the navy was operating in the region: “There’s good reason to believe they’re in immediate danger, of course. DN-66 and her task force is in the Mille Mortifere, they’ve expanded active ASW operations and alerted the Drakonians to the potential danger. DN-71 is moored in Fort Defiance, forces in the area as well as local Skyan security have been notified.”

Embassy staff kept the reports coming to Chancellor Zhao, and materials were send via the hardline to the staff in the Citadel. A statement would be made by the Navy elsewhere, but a list of talking points came through for Korinna to answer any questions the press contingent here had. A similar document for Captain Pestrukhin was intended for dissemination to allied military attaches. Ambassador Otho absorbed the information quietly, settling his head into his hands and looking down at the table. Finally, it was enough, “I’ve got to get back to the meeting. Olifer, prepare a briefing for the Emperor. Korinna, don’t break anything to the press. You have your talking points.”

Otho stood to leave the room but was suddenly struck by one last question. Turning to the representation of Chancellor Zhao on the computer screen, he asked “What was the message received by the embassy in Aldarminia?” Zhao shrugged before gesturing for an aide to pass him another folder through which he rifled for a moment, producing the message, “Apparently it read: Justice for your ancestors.” The Chancellor shrugged again, “We must have somebody looking into what that means by now, I’ll forward what we find to you.” There was no need for that, Otho knew. “I think the other dreadnoughts are safe, Chancellor. Shun Lao was only after Xiang.”

In the minutes and hours following the attack in the eastern Gholgothic sea some one hundred and eighty seven crew members of the Pudu Xiang Wu were lifted from the sea alive and transported to a hospital ship in the vicinity. The massive warship had been the centerpiece of the fifty seven, now fifty five, ship strong Task Force Khudoi and was the flagship of Admiral Zanko Khudoi himself, though through good fortune the admiral had been in Citadel City and away from his fleet at the time of the attack. No doubt he would be located and brought to the embassy as soon as possible. More than thirty seven thousand other sailors and marines wouldn’t be so lucky, however. Intensive anti-submarine warfare operations began in the area after the attack. Active sonars covered tens of thousands of square kilometers in just minutes when sonobuoys were deployed around the fleet using a salvo of specially-modified cruise missiles. The perimeter was then filled in with hundreds of helicopters and dozens of fast corvettes and frigates. In the end, however, a culprit was never found. The drone which had delivered the warhead had detonated along with its payload and the instigator, the submarine battlecruiser Empress, was already long gone.

Approximately 1,200 nm South-East of the Shen Almaru archipelago

It was third watch aboard the INS Wind of Life. Admiral Mokeev had become accustomed in peacetime to taking his evening walks aboard the flight deck, though now with near-constant flight operations this was impossible. He was taking in the air on the small carrier's flying bridge when his executive officer found him. Commodore Agrafena Mitsun had served with Mokeev the past four years, since they had joined the fleet at sea proper. "We missed you in the ward room after the briefing, Admiral." Her voice was crackling over the mics on their ear protection, as the noise of the flight deck below was overwhelming even five levels above. "You know I prefer the quiet." The irony of his statement was highlighted by the deafening sound of a Super Gannet naval rotodyne lifting off the deck of the carrier. "Besides, I'm waiting for someone." At this Agrafena cocked her head to the side, though the admiral was still not looking at her, "Oh?" she questioned. "Right. I didn't mention it at the briefing, but we're getting an advance team tonight to help configure the mission space ahead of the main unit. She'll be arriving tonight. I passed the heads up to Flight Ops earlier tonight, but I asked them not to tell you." Mokeev turned around at this, a smile breaking across his face as he took in his subordinate's frustrated look. Mitsun was unflappable, however, and remained perfectly professional, in contrast to her superior "Well, I just wanted to make sure there wasn't anything else you needed before I turned in." Mokeev shook his head, still grinning, "You don't want to meet our newest charge?" Agrafena stepped back from the admiral, preparing to leave, "No, sir. I'm sure you'll be all the welcome they can handle. I, on the other hand, will need my sleep if if you plan on leaving me to manage all senior staff again tomorrow." She offered a crisp salute to her commander, who reciprocated before replying, "There's that wit." Mokeev turned back to the railing, looking down over the flight deck. As Mitsun was climbing down the ladder, however, he turned back to her, "Oh, but if you see the good Sub-Lieutenant send him my way, I could use a hot tea!" The good sub-lieutenant referred to the admiral’s personal attendant, Timosh Subot, a loyal assistant but far too easy for the admiral to evade, at least for Mitsun's liking. She responded from the deck below, still over the local coms in their headsets, "I didn't see a hot meal on your schedule today, Admiral. Have Subot fetch you something solid with that drink." Mokeev waved his hand dismissively at his absent XO.

For the next few minutes Iakov Mokeev was alone in the night air, the hustling air crew on the flight deck far below his only company. Carrier air patrol flights were going up and coming back down every few hours, and the ASW patrols were coming and going even more frequently. In addition there was a pair of VTOL fighters on standby, lightly armed, waiting on deck at all hours. During a lull in operations it was almost quiet, with the headphones on at least. Beyond the shrouded, infrequent lights of the carrier the sea itself was black and featureless and so Mokeev's eyes gravitated naturally upward. The carrier wasn't nearly so bright as to drown the light of the night sky, and out here there was plenty of sky to see. His vision flitted between various of the solitary, stationary points of light in the sky until he settled on one that seemed it was less than stationary. At first he wasn't sure if it was an illusion of movement and he strained his vision concentrating on it, losing focus for a moment, but it finally confirmed his suspicion.

It was a Sea Starling naval rotodyne, crossing the horizon at three hundred miles an hour and closing with the carrier just as quickly. It's course having been entirely within the fleet's air defense zone, the small utility aircraft was flying with its running lights up. The Wind of Life didn't operate any of that particular aircraft and so, Mokeev reasoned, it must be his guest. Just as he turned to make his way down the ladder to the admiral's bridge below he heard the sounds of hands and feet on the steel rungs behind him. Looking down, he saw Timosh Subot, who immediately leapt off the ladder and stood aside on the level below, deferring to his superior. Mokeev descended before addressing the junior officer. They exchanged salutes. "Subot, a hot tea." he ordered. The Sub-Lieutenant did not immediately leap into action, "Sir, Commodore Mitsun mentioned you might want to take a meal? Is there anything else I can get you?" Mokeev chuckled to himself before replying, "Just a tea, actually. With whisky. I'm headed for the main deck, aft elevator. Find me there." Subot snapped one more salute and disappeared down the ladder. The bridge had hot drinks, but the strong stuff was kept elsewhere. In his position, however, Subot had become closely acquainted with all the likely liquor supplies to be found on their ship and knew where to look.

The main deck on the Wind of Life was two levels beneath the flight deck, where even now the visiting Sea Starling would be making its landing approach. On the main deck Admiral Mokeev had to be careful to avoid the ongoing operations, the other side of those same flight ops monopolizing the deck above. As he made his way aft Mokeev saw the elevator, his destination, engage. Descending was the expected Sea Starling, it's rotors folded for storage. By the time he had arrived the rotodyne had been hauled off the elevator and its crew was debarking. A pair of pilots were assisting in its stowage while a third passenger had hopped out of the bay doors and was kicking her heels, conversing with a technician who was clearly on duty and whose duty clearly didn't extend to hospitality. As Mokeev approached he caught the end of the conversation, "The smoking compartment? Very simple." The guest, a woman in the naval camouflage fatigues of the Marine Raiders, was repeating. The technician did not reply, clearly occupied with their task. "Deck four, beam forty five, compartment six." Mokeev called out as he approached, "I'd be happy to show you."

Chief Petty Officer Liubka Suslo snapped to rigid attention, saluting the sudden arrival. Mokeev returned it cooly. "Chief Petty Officer Suslo, requesting permission to come aboard, sir." She spoke with none of the informal and impatient tones she used with the technician moments before. "A little late for that, I think," Mokeev answered with characteristic lack of formality, holding his arms wide at the interior of his ship. "Welcome to the Wind of Life." Suslo sensed his relaxed demeanor immediately and adjusted her posture, "Thank you sir. I'd take you up on that offer, by the way, if you were serious." She tapped a soft pack of cigarettes stuffed into a pants pocket. "Oh of course," Mokeev said to her, though he was at that moment craning his neck to look in the opposite direction, "Though I am waiting... for my..." he trailed off, scanning the deck.

"Sir!" Lt Subot called out, startling the admiral and snapping him out of his search. "Your tea, sir." The sub-lieutenant handed over a covered foam cup, steam escaping from the lid. Mokeev sipped it tentatively, then smiled. "Just perfect, Subot." He rounded on Suslo again, "Anything you'd like Chief Petty Officer? Hot drink?" he offered. "Whisky," she replied, "But I brought my own." She produced a small steel flask and answered the admiral's exuberant look. Subot exhaled almost forcefully enough to cover his groan.

The trio made their way aft and down, toward the nearest smoking compartment. Making their way aft on the main deck they would pass by a large portion of the combat aircraft aboard the Wind. There were the venerable F/A-41B STOVL naval fighters, soon to be replaced by the newer F/A-60 Outlaw across the fleets; there were variants of the DP-21 interceptor configured variously for different ELINT and EW tasks; there were additional Super Gannet naval rotodynes. As they passed by one of the Super Gannets Mokeev gestured toward a team working aboard the craft, “They’re reconfiguring our Gannets for gunship support and troop transport, per the specifications your unit provided,” he mentioned to Suslo, who had been looking on with interest at the work, “I see, and the Starlings?” she referenced the smaller naval rotodyne often used in a pure gunship configuration by the Marines. “A flight of Starlings will be joining us in the coming days, as well as additional Super Gannets. The ship’s compliment of fixed wings aircraft has already been reduced to allow for their deployment.” Suslo nodded as if she was satisfied, though she didn’t know what the full aircraft compliment of an Emden-class assault carrier was.

"So, what was your station before the Wind?" Mokeev asked Suslo conversationally as they passed from the open hangar area of the main deck to a series of narrow passages. "Our company was attached to the Virile, a battlecruiser, but we left her in Citadel City three weeks ago. We spent some time kicking rocks at Ft Defiance, there were thousands of us there, naval infantry and marines both. From there we flew into Port Imperial with at least six other Raider companies, then we caught a ride to the naval air station that connected me with you. That's where the rest of the company is now." Mokeev nodded. His ship would be playing host to that full company soon enough.

Chief Petty Officer Suslo was a Marine Raider, which in Pudite doctrine differentiated her and her troop from the Naval Infantry. Whereas a naval infantry formation resembled closely a more lightly equipped mechanized rifle formation and was intended to be used in much the same way, though often including an initial amphibious assault, the Marine Raiders were not an operational maneuver unit in that same sense. Assembled in tactical groupings no larger than a company, and usually a platoon or less, Marine Raiders were deployed aboard various classes of warship specially configured to handle them (which did not typically include the Emden-class carriers) and utilized in small unit actions both at sea and in raids over the shore. While they rightfully considered themselves to be an elite unit in the Imperial Armed Forces they weren’t rated as special forces, and in fact their number comprised roughly one quarter of the total marine and naval infantry force of the Imperial Navy.

Mokeev continued his questioning, "Anything I should know about your troop, Chief Petty Officer?" Liubka, walking behind the admiral, flashed him a grin he couldn't see, “You don’t see a lot of marines, sailing on this carrier, I imagine?” Suslo began rhetorically, “You’ll get used to us eventually. We’re loud, we’re dangerous and, well, you just get to know me and you’ll get to know the rest of my company.” She took a satisfied pull from her flask. “You think I can get a supplementary briefing for my chief of security, then?” Mokeev chuckled, “Sounds like it’ll be a good thing, berthing you all down here in the mission module.”

The smoking compartment, even now in the middle of third watch, was overcrowded and the air was choked with cheap smoke. Suslo wasted no time in producing a cigarette, a Crusader-brand filterless, lit from one of the cigarette lighters built into the wall here. The compartment itself looked little more than a windowless, poorly lit hallway. Little knots of sailors huddled throughout the compartment talking, listening to music played or just watching their cigarettes burn. Between the un-harmonious tones of three or four different songs playing too loudly over inadequate speakers, the aggressive humming of the powerful ventilation running in the room and the general din of the warship itself visitors to this compartment would have to yell to make themselves heard.

There wasn't a general call to attention when the admiral entered, though those he passed did stop to salute. He was evidently not an unexpected or infrequent guest here. Finding room enough to lean up against the wall, Mokeev looked to Subot questioningly. Suslo watched the senior officer bemusedly, already red faced with flask in hand. Mokeev couldn’t have been much older than Suslo herself, she decided. In the Imperial Armed Forces age and rank have no correlation, given that every soldier, specialist and field marshal is selected and trained from a young age for their role. Mokeev was a flag officer, certainly, but that doesn’t mean he couldn’t have left the naval academy yesterday.

Timosh produced the admiral's pack of cigarettes, pulled one out, lit it and passed it over to Admiral Makeev, who graciously accepted as if it had been the most natural thing in the world. Liubka Suslo stifled a laugh. "You know," Mokeev began suddenly, "I think there was an Ops division chief who was coming to meet you..." he mumbled something else before taking another drink, smiling inexplicably to himself. This finally cracked Suslo, who was already laughing through her teeth. Mokeev broke too. Sub-Lieutenant Subot sighed heavily and, meeting the admiral's eyes for a moment, turned and left to find the unlucky commander no doubt waiting anxiously somewhere above.

Posted: **Tue May 22, 2018 4:36 pm**

“The Least Worst Option”
The White Citadel
Citadel City, Havensky

The ten year old Princess Valentina remained still, even as everyone else seemed to move about during the recess. Her father had grown annoyed with her sneaking off and didn’t just tell her to remain in her seat, but put his own men near her to make sure that she didn’t. So it was the redhead wearing a red dress and tall brown leather boots sat cross-armed with some of the other Ghantish dignitaries, chief among them Lady Lara Jarasa, who was busy taking notes.

Valentina’s pouting didn’t go unnoticed by the elder lady, either. “You know what your problem is, your Highness?” Lara asked without looking up from her papers. “You’re far too clever for your own good, and it gets you in trouble.”

“Father punishes me for helping him,” the little princess snorted. “Look around you, Lady Lara. None of these people care about him, or us. They won’t do him any favors, and he’s too stubborn to ask for help.”

Lara laughed and told Valentina that “a lot of men are like that. It’s not unique to your father.”

“But my father is brave, kind and just,” the girl countered. “He’s a man of honor and fairness, yet nobody recognizes him as such. They just mock him behind his back, call him a wastrel and a degenerate. It’s not fair!”

At that, Lara put down her papers and looked over to the princess. Sighing, she put a hand on the girl’s shoulder. “Life isn’t fair, your Highness. It’s a wicked game of politics, favors and intrigues. Your father doesn’t play that sort of game, and I can respect that. He just…tries to do the right thing as often as he can, and accepts whatever comes of that.”

Valentina listened as she watched the delegates, her father included, walk around and refresh themselves. The Emperor of Ghant was a somber, solemn man in such company, merely excusing himself to the restroom and to some water before returning to his seat, and going over the reforms again. A part of Valentina was sad for her father, pitied him even, because he never truly wanted the position he was in. It was thrust upon him at a young age…even younger than I am now…

After a few minutes, everyone had returned to their seats from recess, and a strange spectacle began to unfold before Valentina’s eyes. There was a large podium with a hydra’s head upon it at the front of the room, and it began to lower, revealing fifteen boxes in the shape of a bowl. On a round table, there was an opened case with a great iron coin, like the kind minted in northern Ghant.

Atticus stepped up to the podium while the young princess looked on with a cocked head, causing her long red hair to fall to one side. What’s all this about? She figured she was about to find out…

“Each of you has what we’ll refer to as the Lord’s Coin. There is one for each of you and you will find they are exactly alike. I have boxes for each Gothic Lord save for Queen Jessica Heart. The vote for Executor will be simple. Each of you will step up to the boxes and place your coin in the box belonging to your choice for Executor. The Gothic Nation with the most coins will become the new Executor. As the Skybound Republic is administering this vote we will not be running for Executor.”

Fascinating… Valentina’s eyes began to twinkle as her jaw dropped. It has begun…

Atticus added, “I will now call upon each of you to speak as to whom you believe the best choice for Executor is. Voting will begin when we all have said their piece.”

The Briskan Chancellor was the first to take the floor. "Hello again! I am Chancellor Adam Halsley of Briska, a region of Dephire. As you all know, I am my emperor's stand-in as he has funeral preparations to attend to. I stand here on his behalf to present to you his candidacy for Executor. Now, why should you consider a man to be the executor when he stormed out as he did? Let's take a look back at history. Several years back, Tristan and his fellow Templars stormed the beaches of Milograd to help liberate the nation of the Reich's hold. Some of you may remember the flash of white and tan coats help take large chunks from the grabby hands of the jackboots. What prize did he get for his service? His father's death and being thrown into prison by his uncle. From there the man was beaten, tortured, and went through all sorts of horrors that would make the most iron-willed squeamish. Yes, even you, Skaro. However, even being put near death, he escaped the prison and returned home to take back the throne. He did so with spectacular fashion!”

Wow, that’s impressive!

Halsley continued to make his pitch. “As Emperor of Dephire, Tristan took it upon himself to try and rid Gholgoth of anyone who attempted to oppress. He had his armies march into Milograd as the second Kraven invasion took hold. Tristan ended helped bring an end to that war. He took responsibility for the lands after the war concluded by tasking several thousand engineers to migrate to Milograd to rebuild. My emperor is a man who has shown mercy when warranted. When Wilhelm was captured, Tristan forgave him for his sins. Wilhelm then would go on to reclaim large portions of Milograd during the second war and to help lead to the rescue of then Lady Jessica Heart. Tristan's mercy has even extended to many other Gholgoth nations. During the second Milograd War, many ships were destroyed when an ill-informed ruler decided to lash out against Dephire before getting all the facts. Another nation would also bomb many of Dephire's coastal cities. Tristan forgave them and even offered his neck if it were to make them understand.”

“What a great man!”

In the final segment of his speech, the Chancellor explained that “in the third conflict with the Reich over Hab Centre 6, if I recall the name correctly... Skaro? Tristan sent in several fleets to help in rescue efforts. When the Scands decided to bombard Havensky, Tristan sent the entire naval armada. Further, when the Scands still refused to back off, he had the armada chase them down." Adam took a pause to down an entire glass of water. I am not going to say that Tristan Skragg is perfect, but he is one of the most dedicated leaders in this room when it comes to getting things done. He is not going to simply back down when the odds are stacked against him. Some of you would not be here today if it weren't for him. Despite his wife's fleeting life, he came here to address concerns about the reforms and will be pleased to hear they were approved. Thank you, that is all I have to say at the moment."

Valentina nodded at the Chancellor’s words, as did her father. Following the first speech, Skaro of the Kraven Reich took the stage. "I put myself forward for the position of Executor," he paused for a moment.... "Not because I am a Gothic Lord, or thrust into greatness by mere birth alone, but because I loath each and every one of you, I despise the Gothic Council, I hate how some how you believe that through the sheer chance of Birth alone you are somehow better than me, No, I put myself forward as Executor because I will treat you all equally, fairly, and without contempt, or corruption, I will see things for how they are and will act with a cool and logical head that the Skyan Navy credit me so much with, that is my speech, no more, no less"

The princess had to suppress the urge to laugh, thinking that Skaro was a funny man, especially considering the nature of his delivery. No one can say that he’s dishonest!

Praetor Augustus of Drakonia was next, though he didn’t take the stage, electing to speak from his seat. "But can you bring peace to Gholgoth. Can anyone of us?” he proclaimed the question. "Can we rise above the petty interests of our empires and do what is necessary to end our squabblings?"

This certainly got Valentina thinking. Who can indeed? It would have to be a man apart from the great game…

"I came here to do something I have not done before,” he said before turning to the Gothic Lords. "I came to see Gholgoth. I brought my precious daughter here, to build the relationships necessary to insure the future peace of this great region." He cast his eyes upon Skaro. "If you, Captain Skaro, can build that bond. You shall have my vote." His hand fell to the coin before him, and then he said “if there is another." He again looked to the other Lords. "They shall have my vote."

In the vacuum that emerged following the Drakonian’s words, Valentina had a revelation. She reflected on what Lady Lara told her during the recess. …Life is unfair…It’s a wicked game of politics, favors and intrigues. Your father doesn’t play that sort of game…he just…tries to do the right thing as often as he can, and accepts whatever comes of that…

Closing her eyes and taking a deep breath, Valentina vaulted up and out of her seat and boldly responded to Augustus. “There is such a man!”

The Emperor turned around in his chair and stared sharply at his daughter, while his men that were standing close to her immediately reached out to grab her. Before he could reprimand her, however, Lara Jarasa raised her hand. “Let the girl speak, your majesty…she speaks from the heart, and I’m rather interested in listening to what she has to say.”

Letting the lady’s words stew in his mind for a few moments, Nathan at last nodded, and waved his hand to his men. They let Valentina go, and once she was free, she climbed down from her seat and made her way to the floor, walking purposefully in her brown leather boots while her red hair and knee-high red dress bobbed behind her. …Here we go…oh man…

Composing herself once she found where she wanted to stand, the ten year old girl recalled what she had heard earlier, and began her speech with those words in mind. “Lords and Ladies, Highnesses and Majesties, Sirs, Misters and Madams. My name is Valentina, Princess of Ghant. Thank you for giving me the opportunity to address you today. There are many great men who intending on Executor of Gholgoth. Men with accomplishments and accolades as long as…well, as long as the region is wide. Yet, can any of these great men bring Gholgoth unite us all and bring us peace?”

Valentina shook her head. “No, I don’t think so. Only a man of peace, with peace in his heart, can achieve that, and there’s only one man in this chamber that can do that, for the good of all Gholgoth.” With a steady arm, she pointed a finger at her father. “That man is my father, Emperor Nathan of Ghant.”

The color in Nathan’s face drained at that, and looking aghast, he stammered, “…no, daughter…I cannot be me…I do not want to be Executor…”

“That’s why it must be you!” Valentina pleaded. “You understand the weight of the office, you understand the responsibility, and you alone understand that such an office should not fall upon a man that covets the power it bestows.” Looking back to the other lords, she added, “My father has been Emperor of Ghant for thirty years, since he was a boy of nine, younger than I am now. It was put on him before he even knew what it was, what it meant. Almost his whole life, he’s had to rule, and he’s done it the only way he knows how. Honestly, fairly and selflessly. That’s the man you need now.”

Taking a step forward, she looked all of the Gothic Lords in the eye, one after another. “Say what you will about my father, but he’s not disliked, mistrusted or hated by anyone in this room. The same cannot be said for anyone else here. If there is to be a Gothic Executor, then let it be a man that all are willing to trust and listen to. My father has given none here any reason to doubt his intentions, which are true.”

She looked at Captain Skaro. “Ghantar died at Hab Centre 06, in order to save the lives of Gothic peoples in Vetalia. My father knew the odds, knew that there was no way the Ghantish could prevail, yet they did it anyway, because it was simply the right thing to do. That same man has never once taken any action against the Kraven Reich, and you know why? Because the Kravenites are Gothic peoples too. Find another in this chamber that feels the same way.”

Looking to the Scandinvans, Valentina explained that “even you, Prince Fenric, of a line as old as antiquity, can see that my father bears you no ill-will. Has he not spoken on your behalf before this very chamber? How he stated that the Gothic Alliance is meant to protect its member nations and their peoples? Even as you hide behind it and perpetuate wars that involve us all, he was still willing to do that. Find another person in this room willing to do that in the name of peace.”

To the Chancellor of Briska, she said “My father spoke on behalf of your nation, proposing a Gothic base in your territory to protect the western frontier of Gholgoth. While others have turned away and your pleas have fallen on deaf ears, he listened, and acted on your interest with no gain to him. Find me another in this chamber that would do the same.”

Valentina glanced at Augustus Drake. “My father might not be everyone’s friend, but he’s no one’s enemy. That’s the kind of man that can build the relationships necessary to ensure the future peace of Gholgoth. Building bonds, forging relationships, listening and addressing issues is what he does best. If there’s another in this chamber that the same can be said about, name him.”

Lastly, Valentina looked at Atticus. “Even you and the Skyans are mistrusted, for reasons that we all know. Perhaps the other Gothic Lords believe that Havensky will benefit the most from these reforms. If you want peace, you will back that man over there,” she told him, pointing again at her father, who was leaning back in his chair, silent and still. “He will not be your yes-man, your puppet or your mouthpiece. He will not use his position to advance your agenda at the expense of the other Gothic Lords. But so long as he is Executor, there will be peace, and little girls like me in Havensky won’t have to worry about bombs falling. So if peace is what you want, and a united Gholgoth, you know where to put your iron coin.”

Exhaling deeply, the princess looked around the room once again, and finished by saying “My father might not be the man that Gholgoth deserves, but he’s the man that Gholgoth needs. He comes with no agenda, no friends or enemies among the Gothic Lords, any wouldn't make anyone better or worse off as Executor. He’s the least worst option, and that’s the best case scenario for peace we have. Thank you all for hearing what I have to say.” A clumsy curtsy, and then Valentina scampered back to her seat and sat back down, shrinking after she did.

The Emperor of Ghant sighed, and rubbed his forehead. “The man my daughter describes sounds like the man I’ve always aspired to be…the man I’ve worked hard all my life to become. It’s not for me to say if I’m that man. She’s right though…I’m not a great man, I haven’t accomplished as much as many of you have. All I can really do is try to live by my principles. To that end, I cannot in good conscious state my interest or intention to be Executor of Gholgoth, as that is a great office that requires the right person to fulfill it’s obligations adequately. Maybe I am that man…maybe I’m not. It’s not for me to decide.”

Looking back at his daughter, Nathan smiled, before turning back to the other Gothic Lords. “It’s for you to decide. If I am elected Gothic Executor, then I shall try my best everyday to deserve the mantle entrusted upon me by my fellow Lords. As my daughter said, the ‘Least Worst Option.’” Having said that, Nathan thumbed at his iron coin, and though Valentina couldn’t see it, she knew that he was starting to believe that, perhaps after all, he was indeed the Least Worst Option…

Posted: **Wed May 23, 2018 8:29 am**

The Chancellor listened carefully to the Ghantish speaking before the summit. Every time he wanted to open his mouth to object, he could not find any reason to do so. The emperor and his daughter left the man hopelessly in awe and remained seated. He tried to figure out some flaw in their logic, but with their eloquent speeches the man found himself without words. Chancellor Adam Halsley of Briska had finally no words to say. A creeping darkness from the back of his mind reminded him of his duties. He tried to ignore them, but the darkness clawed through his mind. Desperately he looked upon everyone's faces to try and catch any expression he could use as fuel for another argument, but found no such expression. The darkness fueled another emotion, dread. He dared not return to his homeland with bad news. Perhaps he was overthinking everything and his emperor would be happy enough with winning a fortress, but he worried that his employers would destroy him were he not to win the hearts and minds of these people to elect Tristan executor. His mind thought of the cyanide capsules hidden within two false molars on either side of his mouth. He could chomp down on them and the darkness would go away. His eyes slowly looked down to the hidden sidearm he carried. Maybe he could pop a few rounds here and there, then one could blast through his cranium. At least others would suffer before the darkness faded. Adam looked at Skaro. He admired the Kravenite's broody attitude, but he was from the Reich. Whether or not he was one of the blood-thirsty ones, he was still from the Reich. Skaro winning this election would bid ill for the Chancellor. He was back to voting for Tristan or Nathan of Ghant. The coin felt heavier as his mind grew darker. If he were to not vote for Tristan, then his position and life could be in jeopardy. However, if he were to vote for another, there's a chance Tristan might finally rest.

One small idea came to mind. He turned to the Ghantish princess and smiled, "You definitely have what it takes to be a leader, young one." He turned to everyone, "I do not know why we have all failed to see the grand picture. We are here to elect one man or woman to essentially be the face and body of Gholgoth. To empower one individual with the final say in everything. I know we want to return to a peaceful state among ourselves, but it has donned on me that having one individual may not be the best. There will be some resentment regardless of who wins the vote! Let's say you win, Skaro. You are the man that despises everyone. How does that come across when someone calls upon you to help them in a conflict? Why would they even consider asking for assistance from a man that loathes them? Dephire has not experienced any known event where a Kravenite was peaceful nor were they helpful. The way you present yourself is the same way a robot would behave. Sometimes passion and emotion need to be present when making decisions. I wouldn't want you to go and have several hundred mutilated children put to death because it was more logical than to provide aid."

The Chancellor looked back to the princess, "Tristan will thank your father properly for his support of the western fortress. He has already begun construction, albeit years ago at the conclusion of the second Milograd conflict. The man has been burned by members of this summit too many times that he has decided to take upon himself most aspects that were passed in these reforms. I know, I know. What was the point if he's just going to try and do everything on his own? Simply put, we need to show him that we are willing to change. The reforms passing was one large step in the right direction. The election, however, will be another issue. No matter who we vote for, as I said earlier, there will be resentment. We have all, at some point in time, fought either for or against each other. Each candidate before you has been on one side of a conflict, which would normally mean a natural distrust towards those he or she fought against."

Adam slowly turned his attention from the princess to the Emperor of Ghant, "I mean no disrespect, in all I have said and will say. You do have friends, Nathan. Everyone here has friends. Furthermore, everyone here is family. We have all grown together. Yes, we've waged wars on one another that slaughtered millions of our own people, but we can all work together to stop the bickering among ourselves and turn our anger towards those not of our region. Nathan, I cannot see my nation's vote going to a man who is not confident enough to own the Executor title. Perhaps when we hold the next election, which I assume is something we will do..." Halsley glanced at Atticus. "If we hold another election in the future, you may have had the time to earn my people's vote. In the meantime, my candidate is ready and willing to do what it takes to bring peace to this region. There will be changes that he hopes will be beneficial to all of Gholgoth. I will be sure that these changes happen."

The chancellor took his seat and looked down to the floor, "Maybe I should just chomp into those tablets. I am a dead man regardless of what happens."

Posted: **Sun May 27, 2018 9:20 am**

OOC: Rushed to from development to production for fitting in with Drak reasons, haven't proof read yet, apologies for any stupid stuff

The Gothic Chamber, The White Citadel
Citadel City, Havensky

While the council had adjourned for the short recess, the Lamehken delegation had remained aloof. Lorkahn had not taken food, nor sought out discussion with any other delegates, nor his own advisors. Ever dutiful, Aliyah had remained at her masters side as he wandered the periphery of the buffet area seemingly disinterested, yet knowing full well that nothing was further from the truth. Lorkahn watched all that transpired. His keen senses would miss no detail as he observed the interactions of the other Lords and quietly assessed them, filing away any potentially important information in case of future opportunities.

Now that the council session has resumed, watching became listening. Whereas earlier in the day Lorkahn had been quite engaged in the discussions, now he sat silent as other delegates elected themselves or their associates for the position of Executor. Seated directly behind the Manticore-themed throne, Aliyah could only just see Lorkahn's arm as it spun some strange coin slowly around on the table before her, yet, knowing her master well, she understood that this was not a sign of boredom or indifference. Were that the case then they would all certainly be back on the jet heading home by now. Does he realises that he fidgets when having trouble making a decision? I'll have to tell him later. He won't be happy about that.

As yet another speech got under way, this one by a small girl of all people, it was becoming painfully obvious to her that Lorkahn would not willingly vote for any of the candidates presented yet. Given that Serana had once again returned to sit upon the arm of her fathers throne than join them on rear table, Aliyah felt relaxed enough to lean over and say as much to Kaiden. 'It all seems a bit petty by comparison, doesn't it?'

Kaiden, who by all appearances had been paying attention to the speeches, seemed completely unconcerned by the interruption and turned to look at Aliyah. Almost as if he wasn't actually listening at all...

'Petty, yes,' he replied, with a tiny smirk, 'but more so than Lamehk? Not really. It only appears that way because the subject is so benign. If you were back home and the summit was to discern who's house slaughtered lord so-and-so's family but disguised it as an unfortunate spear fishing accident, it would definitely be more dramatic, but still petty.'

Aliyah nodded, conceding the point. 'I suppose it would, but, do you think that when the culprit was found, would he be killed or applauded for his creativity?'

'Easy,' answered Kaiden without hesitation, 'He would be praised for his artist talent, and then killed.'

Conscious of where she was, Aliyah muffled her laugh even as a subtle motion from Kaiden toward the council table made her turn just in time to see Lorkahn summoning her with a flick of his wrist. Mouthing a silent thank you to the Yallakian, she hurried over to the throne under the piercing glare of Serana.

'My Lord?' she queried, brushing aside of strand of golden hair from her in front of her eye.

'You still have the proposal documents?' Aliyah nodded her confirmation. 'Now is as good a time as any. You know what is required, I trust you'll see to it in whatever way seems appropriate. Rhy'tan and Kairos will go with you.'

'Yes, my Lord.' Aliyah nodded again before withdrawing, knowing nothing more needed to be said.

Returning to the staff table, Aliyah picked up the the folder containing the proposal. Clearly having already received their own instructions, Lorkahn's two corsairs stepped away from their posts and followed as she departed the council chamber.

'Don't ask,' said Lorkahn flatly, catching Serana off-guard by so casually pre-empting her, and without even so much as a glance in her direction. The command was a whisper, but still carried an authority that brooked no argument. Her mouth froze mid-motion before the first syllable had even formed on her lips. Realising she must look the fool she quickly snapped it shut and assumed an irritated expression.

'You can stop that too.'

Ignoring the follow up demand, Serana feigned further indignation, however as the Briskan Chancellor droned on for the second time about how suitable his candidate was for the Executor role, it became apparent that her father would not placate her regardless. Eventually she abandoned the facade. 'Fine, but I expect answers soon.'

'As I promised,' confirmed Lorkahn, all the while, ceaselessly spinning the 'Lord's Coin' slowly around on the table top between his fingers.

'Good. Now, how about we hurry this along and you claim the Executor role so we can go home already?'

Lorkahn smirked in response, which Serana found odd. Despite assurances to the contrary, she was beginning to think that her father was being intentionally obscure. 'And just why is that amusing? Control of the Praetor operations could be quite useful?'

'I have no desire to be a puppet, daughter.' Lorkahn looked to her for the first time in the conversation. In the background, the Briskan Chancellor was finally starting to wrap up. 'The council controls everything and the Executor just does what they're told, worse even, as they must give up voice and vote too. Good for an ambition-less lackey. The Ghantar Emperor might be excellent for it.'

Hope bloomed in Serana at those words. 'Let's get him elected then, all this bluster and your games are seriously wearing on my patience, father!'

'I have no intention of voting for him, that would...'

Frustrated, Serana interrupted Lorkahn with a string of Lamehken words that came out as more of a low growl than a sentence. The words themselves were entirely unsuitable for being uttered in such an august chamber.

By way of apology Lorkahn gave a slight, unsympathetic shrug. 'Come now, daughter, don't be like that. The dull part is over, I think you'll like what happens next.'

In the silence that followed the the Briskan's speech, as all waited to see who would speak next, the scrape of the coin being spun on the table sounded unusually loud. A slightly louder clank followed as the coin was pushed down flat onto the table top.

'I confess some disappointment,' declared Lorkahn as he began to address the chamber. Despite herself, Serana found that she was intrigued to see what he would say. Agh, bastard. I hate how he always knows how to play me like that.

'I thought for sure that choosing one Lord from amongst this noble council to represent us all would be difficult,' continued Lorkahn, 'so many good choices surely.' That has the attention of the rest of them.

'And yet..' Lorkahn sighed. Very genuine, father, well done. I think you stole that trick from me.

'The first option,' began Lorkahn, locking his penetrating gaze upon Halsley, 'and the fourth if we are counting by speeches, is the Emperor who stormed out of this very room in a tantrum because of some perceived slight. Sounds like just the sort needed to mediate between our nations with patience and reason, doesn’t it? And yes,' continued Lorkahn, waving his hand dismissively, 'you can try and blow that off due to his recent loss, but there is no excuse, if this was such an emergency session as the Executor must chair then Gholgoth would be aflame by now.'

Serana thought that the Briskan had looked somewhat stressed already, but the new emotions boiling up in him were absolutely delectable to observe. Try not to have a coronary, little worm. Then again... please do.

Lorkahn left no chance for any response though and pressed on, turning his attention to the Kraven sailor. 'Captain Skaro. To stand before us and say what you did, I do admire that, but you couldn't be more wrong. Well, as far as concerns me anyway. If I am better than you it is because I made it so, no more, no less. Come to Lamehk some day and I will show you what relying on a noble birth there will get you. Still, I truly might have voted for you, if you represented any other nation at this table, but no Kravenite has earned enough good will in my lifetime to be charged with the responsibility of defending the spirit of peace and co-operation in Gholgoth.' But how fun it would be to watch.

'And Nathan,' the Dread Lord of Lamehk now looked toward the Ghantar Emperor and his daughter. 'The least worst option. I can't claim to know you very well, but you clearly don't want it and that tells me all I really need to know. I'd rather vote for the girl, I think. Pity she's not older, she certainly has the mettle for the job. One thing though Princess, the least worst option, is still among the worst options.' You didn't lie, father, I am beginning to enjoy this after all. That last brutality was delightfully unnecessary.

'And so we reach the part where you believe I will explain why you should vote for me instead.' Lorkahn took a moment to gaze at all the Lord around the chamber. 'I could, of anyone in this room, I alone may have the best qualifications when it comes to keeping peace and order between various factions.' None of them have ever set foot in our lands, father, they couldn't remotely understand why that is so true.

'Yet I have no intention of that whatsoever. I too hold no desire to be Executor. There is one though, who I believe is the right man for the position.' And the poor fool is...

'Praetor Augustus Drake.' If the man himself seemed surprised by the nomination, he covered it well enough and Lorkahn proceeded without any undue fuss. 'He abstained on the vote for the proposals, and I found that most intriguing. Why would a sure fire bet to support the motion do that? Caius' recent words clarified that stance for me and I see that they understand. Do not mistake what I say next as an insult, these proposals we have now ratified, represent a grand foresight and a lot of work and are to be applauded as such, but those words, that ink they are written in, are only as strong as the paper on which they sit. And they are worthless without our unified support, a foundation of respect and loyalty. These things are forged in blood and brotherhood, not ink. The man who would be Executor must understand this and Augustus does.' And now you're being boring again...sigh.

Posted: **Mon May 28, 2018 5:04 pm**

Lifting his coin, Augustus Drake felt its weight. It was heavy and so was his choice.

Captain Skaro had made a rational, dispassionate, and compelling argument. But there was a double-edge to that dispassion, as the Briskan Chancellor had pointed out. The violence of the Kravenite system could lead to a unemotional slaughter when it was convenient. Whoever took the Executor’s seat needed to understand the value of the lives. There was no telling how compassionate the submarine captain could be. If we was a product of his environment though, Augustus’ reasoned the Kravenite presented far too big a risk. He was likely irreparably corrupted by the desolation and nihilistic machinery of the Kraven Reich.

Augustus turned his attention to the Briskan. There was something off about the man, but Augustus could not say what. He dismissed his feelings. Likely it was just politics internal to Dephire. Perhaps related to Lord Skragg’s fiery departure.

Tristan Skragg did possess the prerequisites of a strong leader, but his exit had prevented Augustus from getting a firm reading of the man’s character. And there was something insincere in the Chancellor's pitch.

Which left the Emperor of Ghant. His daughter had given an impassioned plea. Adam Halsley may be right in that a leader should be ready to seize power given to him. Augustus however, remained unconvinced.

Augustus identified with Nathan, he too had not wanted the burden of leadership placed upon him by his birth. When his grandfather had asked him to succeed him, Augustus, and his future wife, were in Lavenrunz skiing after having slipped their security details. The young Drake had to grow up fast and shed his personal misgivings over his parents’ assassination. It was with no small amount of reluctance that he had assumed the great responsibilities of a head of state.

Praetor Augustus had been able to restore much of the Drakonian lands that had drifted away from the Imperium over the first part of the last century. He had presided over the vast growth of the Drakonian economy and more importantly Augustus had used his close ties and allies to bring Drakonia into the Gholgoth Regional Alliance.

Reluctant leaders, Augustus thought. Could be great leaders.

Meanwhile, alongside the momentary lull in discussion, a Drakonian Navy Lieutenant had entered the chamber and made his way to the table behind the Drakonian monarch. A brief discussion was had with Lord Caius Argentius, the Prime Minister of Mille Mortifere. Then the Lieutenant approached the Praetor.

"Your Majesty," he whispered quietly. "There has been a nuclear detonation 373 miles east of Mille Mortifere. A Pudite Super Dreadnought and some smaller vessels have been sunk by a nuclear torpedo launched from a submarine. Our liaison with the Pudites believe this to be an isolated incident. However, the Grand Admiral is asking permission to institute security precautions in Mille Mortifere. Lord Argentia has already agreed."

So that had been the brief commotion among the Pudite delegation a few minutes earlier Augustus realized. "Immediately," he commanded. "And I want a full briefing on the incident and a rundown on the precautions at my earliest convenience this evening."

The lieutenant nodded.

"Have all Drakonian and Millian vessels in the area offer assistance."

"Admiral Ventura has already issued the order."

The scratch of a coin drew the Praetor’s attention. He dismissed the lieutenant with a nod as his eyes darted across the table to Lord Lorkahn of Lamekh. The lieutenant left, hastening to carry out his orders.

As Lamekhen Lord spoke, Augustus watched him intently, his eyes briefly lancing out to see reactions, particularly to Lorkahn’s daughter who sat presumptuously on the arm of her father's chair.

Maybe, the Drakonian thought. He would get a glimpse of the game the Lamekhen was playing at the Council. But he was disappointed in that, and surprised in his own nomination. The only reaction the monarch revealed was brief widening of the eyes before they again narrowed.

The Praetor had not planned to vote for himself, but now he would have to consider that possibility. He carefully considered his response.

"Tell me," Augustus looked across the table, his eyes addressing the Emperor of Ghant. "If you had been Executor when this crisis started, what would you have done to stop it?"

Then, the Drakonian Praetor turned to look at the Secretary of State of Havensky. "Before you answer, I’ll tell you what I would have done. My approach first would have been exactly what the Skyan’s attempted: Diplomacy."

He turned to Prince Fenric. "There is no way to know whether such an effort would have succeeded or not. But I suspected it too would have failed, and whether or not Mille Mortifere would have suffered as this very city did, I see no way in which my actions would not be as they are this very day. When diplomacy fails there are but two responses, action or apathy, and I have never favored apathy."

"If the Council will have me as Executor, I will serve the Council in that position," he said, addressing the Lords. "But first, I would hear the good Emperor’s reply."

1517 Zulu
Gaudia Fields Joint Military Base
Argentia, Mille Mortifere
Base Airfield

With a tremendous terminal roar, a Dragon Bomber lumbered from the runway; rising slowly, heavily into the air. The B-1971 Dragons were the largest aircraft employed by the Imperial Drakonian Aerospace Force. The look of these massive strategic bombers from that of giant mythical birds with their wingspan of three hundred and fifty feet and the twin booms extending from each wing to dual tail surfaces. The gargantuan bomber rose to meet a long line of behemoth aircraft clawing for altitude. Another Dragon rolled down the number two runway slowly picking up speed before it too gently left the ground and began a slow climb to the heavens.

The locals had once called this place the "Box Village" for the vast spread of prefabricated structures that had sprung up to meet the needs of the Imperial Military. And while those original structures had long since been replaced by permanent buildings, the name had stuck. To the northeast of the megapolis of Port Imperial and south of the small city of Gaudium, Gaudia Fields took its formal name from the fields and farmland that had given way to wire fences, asphalt, concrete, and steel.

Built, a little over seven years ago, during the last slave crisis in Gholgoth, there had been a need to accommodate a formal Imperial Military presence in the islands as Drakonia took an increasingly interventionist policy in the affairs of Mille Mortifere. The base had initially served to peacefully resettle some of the freed slaves of Brewdomia. It had quickly come to serve as the headquarters of both the Drakonian and Millian militaries in Gholgoth. The Box Village had become the largest military base in the islands, a sprawling complex shared by the Imperial Army, Aerospace Force, and the Territorial Army of Mille Mortifere.

And yet, now the old nickname had new meaning, as a new generation of prefabricated structures had sprung up to meet the needs of thousands of new Drakonian, Skyan, Pudite and other Gholgothic troops. It was likely that the base was not just the largest in Mille Mortifere, but the whole of the Imperium, even Drakonia had few facilities that could match it scale.

"Just what in Hades is this?!"

On a section of tarmac, designated for the off-loading of freight, a different type of Dragon was parked. This was a C-1971 the cargo variant of the behemoth aircraft. A drab military grey cargo container was slowly being offloaded from the aircraft. Emblazoned in black on the container was the word "FULMINATA" with a white lightning bolt symbol below it.

"New kit," the chief loadmaster responded.

The Flight Sergeant furrowed his brow, angrily banging his finger on the clipboard he held. "Manifest says you’re supposed to be carrying cruise missiles?"

The loadmaster shrugged. "All I know is this is some new secret weapon system for the bombers."

"Sergeant!" The Sergeant spun. Marching up to meet him was a Colonel. "We need to unpack these containers and get these missile loaded on Buteo* Flight ASAP**. Command wants them ready to fly at a moment’s notice."

"Finally, getting the go order, sir?"

"That is the rumor." The Colonel nodded, as he looked over the shipping crate. "Get to it then."

"Yes, sir!"

The war may not yet have come to Mille Mortifere, but one could be forgiven for thinking it had. Her skies were full of warplanes, hers seas full of warships, and her islands full of soldiers and warmachines. Old and terrible engines of war were grinding slowly, inevitably to life.

__________________

* Latin: "Buzzard"
** Acronym: "As Soon As Possible"

Posted: **Tue May 29, 2018 9:28 am**

Tristan brought another shot to his lips and downed it with a swallow. He was at a bar he found near the summit's chambers and was pounding shot after shot to help calm his nerves. Each shot less vile than the last as they slowly numbed his taste and his mind. After ten shots, he stood up, paid the bartender in Gothic coins, then slowly made his way back to the chambers. For the most part, the emperor of Dephire was sober. Only some of the alcohol he consumed made it past the nanites' processing. He entered an express elevator to the floor where the summit was being held. The music was cheerful, better than any elevator music he's ever experienced. No guards were escorting him as he exited the elevator, though some were surprised to see his return. The guards knew how capable Tristan was in defending himself, so they gave him a wide berth. Tristan also asked for their discretion so as to make the others in attendance of the summit not to be distracted. He leaned against the wall and listened in.

"Oh, good. The reforms have passed. I guess that means we'll need to flood our Engineer Corps to Briska and Milograd." Tristan whispered to himself. He listened more intently to the conversations. Eventually they broke into recess for refreshments and food before they would return for the next order of business. A Templar was able to sneak out a taco for the emperor to munch on. It was delicious. He would need to thank the Skyan chef for the meal. It was during this recess that Tristan noticed his peculiar Chancellor casually glide over to a man that was no doubt a member of the Reich. His ear closer to the gap, Tristan tried to listen to the conversation between the two delegates, but he could not hear anything over the interference. However, he saw the Briskan slip an envelope into the Reich officer's pocket and then walked to the taco bar. Tristan's face became flushed with embarrassment as his chancellor heaped up enough food onto his plate for a family of six, then watched in horror as he devoured it all. The coup de gras was the extremely loud, long, and unpleasant belch before the chancellor fell asleep. "What the hell did I see in that man?" Tristan asked himself as he watched the delegation begin to reconvene.

He watched as his chancellor woke up with a start and left for the restroom right as Atticus opened the floor for nominations. Tristan had to duck out so as not to be seen and was curious at his chancellor's departure. A few minutes later, Halsley returned to the floor and took the stage and put Tristan's name on the table. Shortly after Halsley's speech, a Templar and a member of the White Guard approached Tristan and discreetly passed a small note. "Halsley is acting strange. May be compromised." Tristan nodded to show his thanks, then he saw the Reich officer speak. Tristan could not help his eyes from rolling as the Kravenite put his own name on the table. He heard Augustus offer challenge to Skaro's claim, and a young Valentina put her father's name out there. Halsley, much to Tristan's surprise, then went to re-validate Tristan as a candidate, but this time with some urgency. Lorkahn of Lamehk spoke and brought up some very good points, but even more surprise came with the addition of Augustus to the ballot. Tristan was troubled about the news of his chancellor. More troublesome was the news another Templar gave to him with regards to a nuclear detonation within the region.

"Jane, I am going to need you to return to the summit. A certain Chancellor may be compromised." He spoke into a hidden communicator.

"Already heading up the stairs." Jane replied. Tristan smiled as he knew better than to assume his guardian would allow him to be apart for too long. He then saw the fire extinguish from Halsley's eyes as the final blow from the other delegates landed and knew that if he didn't act now, something bad may happen.

Adam Halsley knew the final blow may resonate with such power that Tristan's candidacy would be shattered. He slumped down in despair, "Why did he have to leave in such a way? Had he just stayed long enough to see things out then maybe I wouldn't have to work so hard. If I don't get him elected, then I am surely dead. Dead!" Halsley looked up at the other delegates, "No. It isn't my fault. Those punks would do anything to make sure Tristan isn't elected! It's THEIR fault! Yes, they are the ones trying to blow things out of proportion with Tristan leaving! That's it!" He reached down to the pistol at his him, stroking it slowly. "I could take out the other candidates and make Tristan the only person left that could run! They would have to vote for him!"

A firm hand grasped his shoulder, "Hello, Adam. Thank you for keeping the seat warm."

Halsley jumped out of his chair, un-holstered the pistol, and pulled the trigger several times. Click. Click. Click. He had forgotten about the safety. Embarassed, he tried to chomp down on the pills, but found himself restrained by two Templars and fell asleep as a needle jabbed into his neck with a sleeping medication. The Templars removed the cyanide tablets and dragged the slumbering man out of the chambers. Tristan sat down in the chair and looked towards the other delegates.

"First, I want to start by apologizing profusely for my behavior earlier. It was immature of me to have left so abruptly without so much as a goodbye. I however, still stand by my reasoning." A Templar gave Tristan a folder detailing everything he may have missed, "I am very glad that the reforms were passed. However, I am disturbed to find that these reforms were not your own, Atticus, but were in-fact an idea from Captain Skaro. Normally I would be angry that you would even listen to a Kravenite, especially with our shared history with them, but the reforms were still in the best interest of the alliance." He looked to the other candidates, "I enjoyed everyone's speeches and was actually surprised with the nominations. Please forgive my Chancellor for his... Behavior. There will be an investigation into what has him so spooked. It wasn't like I would kill the man if I had lost the election."

Tristan adjusted in the chair, "Second, if you will still have it, I want to stand by my Chancellor's nomination for me to be your Executor. I implore you to disregard Halsley's erratic behavior and my outburst so that I may present you my own case. Skaro," Tristan turned his attention to the Kravenite, "I was not brought up as a royal. In fact, my family was in exile during my childhood. We did belong to a line of royalty, yes, but we were not recognized. I did grow up in poverty, for a time. Eventually I left my family and joined the Templar Order. My father did restore the family's rightful place and became emperor, but we had humble beginnings." He returned to addressing the delegation as a whole, "The Templars were my family since I was twelve. They educated me and trained me. We were tasked with upholding order and justice within our part of Gholgoth. I eventually earned my position to lead the Templar Order. My first task was to take back Milograd and return the nation to its people. I stormed the beaches with my fellow Templars. When I returned, I found my father had passed and my uncle took the throne and threw my Templars and I into prison. A handful of Templars would escape the genocide and found safe harbor at Kylarnatia. From there, a rescue plan would brew and my Templars and I were freed. I took the throne from my uncle and became the emperor. I was not just handed power through mere birth. I earned my empire.

As Halsley already mentioned, I sent my people in to liberate Milograd. There are still hundreds of thousands of my people there working to rebuild the nation after the Reich's occupation. I helped the Skyans in their plans to rescue Jessica from the bowls of the Kraven Reich. I also personally sponsored Havensky as a candidate for the alliance and worked tirelessly to have Sir Lucas Ironwing recognised as a Gothic Lord, and even made him an honorary Templar General. I have come to the defense of anyone who has asked for it. The Dephirian Armada was here not too long ago to deter Scand forces from continuing their bombardment." Tristan leaned forward while he collected his thoughts for the next statement.

"I am also not the perfect candidate. As you know, I can be swift to take action and that can sometimes result in repercussions. I tried diplomacy with the Reich on numerous occasions and have been orbital bombarded, tortured, beaten, and cast out. I have tried to keep my emotions in check when it comes to matters personal or abroad. I know what it is to take a risk and lose. I've lost my family. I've lost millions of people. I've even lost friends. With these reforms, we will find ourselves working towards the betterment of our alliance as a whole. These reforms should unify us and make us stronger. I couldn't say it better than what my Chancellor said, we are a family. Families can squabble and fight, but in the end they are still a family. As Executor, I will work to have our alliance unified under a common goal, or even a common set of goals. I will ensure to have raised a standing military force that will protect everyone. I will seek diplomacy before hostility unless drastic measures come before me. I will also not hesitate to put someone down as if they were a rabid dog if it is necessary." He laced his fingers, "On a similarly related matter, I will be giving Gholgoth the pride of Dephire, the island nation of Briska. Briska will be known as Fortress Pelion henceforth. That decision will not be changed even after the executor has been elected."

Tristan leaned back in his chair, "That is what I have for you, fellow Lords and Ladies of Gholgoth. If you have any questions or challenges to what I have said, then please address me."

Posted: **Thu May 31, 2018 11:51 am**

In Imperial Orbspace...

mostly SIC
The precise location and blast data had been confirmed in triplicate.

Thus, the inhabitants and targeting systems of the Svetovyd-class strategic missile/kinetic orbital launch systems Imperial Guard Warsat Arrays were abuzz as every deployed Aldarminian cosmonaut across the thermosphere prepared for a possible upgrade from TProt -1 to TProt 0. Launch authorization condition.

“This is Strategic and Tactical Satellite High Command, all assets initiate preliminary dump-and-aim procedures for forward missiles,” echoed-through-communications-networks the voice of an otherwise anonymous Bolshmakt, high command commander, who was probably safely on the ground at a sister installation where similar preparations were being made for ICBM launches.

Following the Bolshmakt’s orders, dozens-to-each of orbit-to-ground Oriontroika nuclear-loaded missiles methodically “poured” out from long, side compartments of the peripheral weapons platforms of the evermore dozens of sat-arrays. Every missile that was ever deployed into space by the Aldarminian Empire went their equipped with the Strybog auxiliary VTAG (Vapor-thrust-and-guidance) system so that they could be deposited into (and if good fortune necessitated, retrieved from) the vacuum of space. With the assistance Nishvoynar drone-AI, the neural networks responsible for handling the most data-tedious functions of any given Aldarminian weapons system, Strybog VTAGs emitted low-delta-v-cost vapors to align the “dumped” missiles into the most practical and lethal formations for the OtGMs’ targets, who- or whatever they were, to receive.

The confirmation of this preemptive maneuver’s completion was carried up the ranks urgently and meticulously until it reached the Bolshmakt, who then followed Thriald Protocol -1 procedure to the letter, “…all assets initiate preliminary rail-and-rod systems externalization.”

Throughout the Warsat arrays, fascia of prisms and cylinders emerged from the ground-oriented sections of the central weapons platforms. These were the OtGEKWS Perun-117 rail cannons of the Svetovyd-class array. Firing them without first completing externalization (using actuator arms within the interior of the satellite to push the system itself out from the superstructure) while possible, would be extremely dangerous as they tended to overheat at catastrophic levels at a rate of about one-in-a-thousand. However, overheating did not prevent effective initial discharge of munition, which was a robust “rod” of a super-dense metal alloy that was optimized in composition and geometry for maximum kinetic energy-to- “boom,” in not-so-layman terms. Vapor-thrusters under supervision of the Nishvoynar would “aim” the Peruns at the terrestrial or nautical target deemed worthy of Imperial Wrath.

Smaller versions of the Perun cannons, known as Bogrogatka-808’s underwent far less drastic externalization procedures as they overheated several orders of magnitude less than the Peruns, but they were capable of chunking what were affectionately referred to as “slugs” rather than “rods” like their larger, heavier counterparts. Bogrogatka-808’s could sling a dozen slugs in the same time it took a Perun-117 to launch a rod, reload a new rod if even capable of doing so, and re-align for proper targeting, but of course, the 808’s could push their slugs to only a mere fraction of the velocity of the 117’s rods. Where a rod could level several city blocks with ease, a slug was more apt for making super-bunker-builder engineers cry. Eventually, all externalizations were complete, and a similar transfer of confirmations as the missile dumps occurred. Finally, the Bolshmakt ordered, “Standby for upgrade to 0.”
mostly SIC

Gothic Chamber
Earlier…

Katya had expected an at least a somewhat violent reaction from one of the Prynza to at least one of the many accusations and insults exchanged like betting chips across this poker table of diplomacy, but she was in-part pleasantly surprised that Zlobaskar seemed to perfectly restrain himself here better than earlier. However, she was mortified—disturbed even—that it was Ryslander, her nephew-turned-adopted-son, who slammed his fist on the table in response to the Briskan Emperor’s outburst.

“How da—,” the Makar-born Aszcheyo barely mouthed before the Synoktron Zlobaskar placed a hand on his elder adopted brother’s shoulder, thus pulling rank elegantly and quietly so as not to insult but rather to calm. Katya wondered exactly how much and how quickly Zlobaskar was learning just from one-and-then-some of diplomatic meetings. After making note of this interaction and resolving to commend the Synoktron for it later, she continued to silently formulate strategies and responses to the various proposals and statements made by the other Gothic Lords and their emissaries or adjutants.

While the Hearthkeeper had been a more-than-adequate warrior, she detested warfare and combat, but unquestionably, she adored the finer arts of negotiation, compromise, and pleasantries of diplomacy. Even the oft-crude or sometimes outright-disorganized system of Gothic diplomacy gave her the greatest satisfaction. Katya had tired of battle and bloodshed long ago—or long ago it seemed to her now. Despite this, she could not help but wish, for the first time in her life, that her father, Othrandyr, was by her side.

Othrandyr Makar V, Patriarch of the Veiled House of Makar in the Blood Soviet, was a master of everything Gholgoth. As a child, the now-old man had been groomed to become the Vicelord of Gholruka, a position that the reforms ushered in by Hrothashki I, Katya’s deceased brother-in-law, made non-extant. Even then, though, growing up learning about the vast power the Makar monarkha used to hold as Gothic Lords nigh-independent from the rest of the Great Aldarminian Empire inflated his sense of authority and of course his ego. Or, as Silvier had once put it to Katya after the latter explained his upbringing and subsequent behaviors, “…turned him into a cold-yet-enraged sociopath of unnecessary zeal.”

If not Othrandyr, at least Katya’s brother, Ilyar Makar, would have more than sufficed. More so than their father himself. Alas, if Ilyar could have been there, then Ryslander would not have been. And so, Katya made do with what she had, and all things considered, a reinvigorated delight in the affairs spurred on by Zlobaskar’s attentiveness and decorum carried her throughout the arduous proceedings of the glorified crisis management conference.

Meanwhile, while their mother pondered and listened somewhat-passively, Hrothashki was scrawling rapid-fire notes onto a pad as they were dictated to him in whisper by Zlobaskar. Here and there, he doodled or sketched when he felt not much was going on. This had been his most preeminent occupation during the break between sessions. These would be the first renditions of Gotsuvyronim, Hrothashki's planned magnum opus for his visual artworks depicting the Gothic Lords...

…nigh-simultaneously as the brief departure of Otho’s Pudite delegation…

The interior of Olav’s helmet became a storm of low-intensity light, if such a thing were possible, that alerted to him to the ongoing literally-nuclear situation near Milli Mortifere. The entire Empire had gone from Standard Defensive Condition to Thriald Protocol -1 in a matter of the seconds after the triplicate confirmation. He could only imagine the whirring of machines and the war-crying of men that must have permeated the Grand Imperial Kosmokratium then. Well, he could do more than imagine. Katya’s phone, as programmed, had vibrated at full-intensity for three seconds at a time three time. She and the Blood Guard locked eyes immediately.

Without warning to her fellow Gothic Lords, the Grand Empress arose from her seat, grabbing Dalikharl III as she did, and placed herself behind Khommyssar Doshsvyn. The two other Blood Guards that had stayed with Olav rallied the remaining children to them by saying “Sheep in the cradle” in Old Aldarminian. Only Zlobaskar and Ryslander knew what the words really meant when they came from the Blood Guard, but Hrothashki could guess; Sophyana, Lucylla, and little Dalikh believed it was just a signal to start a game. A game where the youngest of the children were whisked away by the Blood Guard. By treating it as game with the younglings, the Blood Guard had effectively conditioned the children to participate in countless security drills without their realization of the ruse. It helped to keep them calm, but at Ryslander’s age and in Zlobaskar’s position, such a fantasy had been debriefed into cold-hard reality.

After minor hassling of the Iron and White Guards outside of the Chamber, the entire cadre of Blood Guards the Aldarminian delegation had arrived with reunited with the envoy-entourage-proper by forming a thick shell of bodies around them as they attempted to make their flight to "assured safety" back to the home-continent. There was, however, a kink in the formation by the name of Ryslander I. There was a too-close-to-static-for-comfort war of whispers between the adopted Prynz and the Tzarbolshina, but somehow-someway, the lesser of the two prevailed. Katya had wanted to yell something as she "graciously" stormed off, but she wisely bit her tongue so as not to diminish the position Ryslander had hence made for himself.

As Ryslander turned to reclaim his seat at the table of Gothic Lords, he found Khommyssar Olav Doshsvyn standing before him. Without imperial cue, the ever-faithful war-servant assured Ryslander, "Explicitly, my duty is to protect to the last drop of blood in my veins the emissaries, dignitaries, representatives, or whatever you wish to call yourself right now, moy'Prynz to this summit of the Gothic Lords. As of now, that is you and only you. Despite what may have occurred earlier with the Kylar, rest assured that your family is safe."

Ryslander held back a tear as he was not sure whether or not this Blood Guard who had yet to even speak a word to him directly fully-grasped the weight of the words he had just spoken. They had meant the world to Ryslander, and at that moment, they were all the adopted son of the Aszcheyko needed to push forward with his newly-claimed duty. As he took his seat, a Skyan Iron Guard approached--with Olav's permission of course. The Skyan was visibly confused and apparently lacked the fluency in any Aldarminian language, let alone dialect, to communicate efficiently verbally, but this had been considered as the first piece of torn paper had clearly written on it in Mralic, "From Zlobaskar, to Ryslander, with trust."

Upon completing his review of Zlobaskar's Hrothashki-dictated missives, which with one exception were all on pieces of paper torn from the latter's notepad, Ryslander noticed there had formed a lull in conversation after Tristan had invited the other Lords to challenge or question him. Ryslander stood, making his move, "If I may, Lords of the Council?"

No one seemed to object as much as they seemed rather surprised by the teenager's suddenly vocal participation in the summit. Thus, Ryslander spoke, and he did so boldly, as a Goth would, "It is of my opinion that we need two Executors to handle the two separate crises of the region, but as I understand it," he consulted Zlobaskar's second or third note laid strategically within quick-glancing distance on the table, "This may complicate the situation and the prevailing issues, so I will not press this proposal any further. I do wish to review mine, and by extension my Grand Emperor's and Aldarminia-as-a-whole's, thoughts so that our position is clear.

For the position of Executor, in any given situation, I would leap at the chance to nominate Aldarminia's Grand Emperor Dalikharl II, but he himself studied in the Scandinvans before the Usurper's War that wracked our nation to its core. Even he would say he could not be trusted to deal with intra-regional conflicts involving the Scandin totally impartially. Further considering that conflicts of interest do not necessarily negate each other, he grows wearier and wearier every day of the practice of slavery and the piracy it encourages. Before my time and even the Grand Emperor's predecessor's, we dealt with slavers and pirates as one-in-the-same. And we did so savagely, incessantly, and methodically. Such wars claimed heavy tolls of Aldarminian blood and spirit with little-to-no lasting effect whatsoever or 'gain' for the then-Imperium, and it is for this reason that in the recent decades of the Grand Imperial Kosmokratium, that we have wavered precariously and totally in our contribution to the vast, coordinated efforts to stamp out the institution of slavery.

However, times are a-changing again. While our expressed intents for enjoining any war effort may not exactly include the eradication of slavery in any specific theater, that is not to say we will not do what we can for those we civilians and non-combatants Aldarminian troops encounter under bonds. This firmly excludes not only my adopted father but also any Aldarminian from being named Executor for any crisis involving any slaver-state. We lack, as a matter of policy, the impartiality.

This brings me and my people, our Empire, to consider other options, especially those already presented to us. I could think of personally some names I wish to submit for nomination to the Executor position," holding back the glance to Silvier, Ryslander continued, "But first comes to mind Lord Ironwing or Lord Atticus or some man or woman like them, but as they have noted fairly, they too lack the impartiality needed for such a position in this case

Thus, I come to Lord Nathan of Ghant, but as Lord Tristan aptly pointed out earlier, he lacks both will and confidence thereof for the position. Might as well strike his name from the list, if you can forgive that blunt turn-of-phrase. However, the door shall remain open to our endorsement of his Executorial assent if he so chose to retract his earlier preemptive vote of no self confidence for the position.

And here, it seems, to me, to be most reasonable to consider someone of central prominence in the region geographically and mercantile political impartiality. Someone like Lord Augustus Drake, for instance, and if I had heard by now an acceptance of such a nomination from the Lord Augustus, I would most likely fervently endorse him as Executor of the Gothic Council. However, there is another, quite valid, to my confessed chagrin, to be made."

Ryslander rounded the table as Atticus had to almost-confront Tristan, "Lord Tristan Skragg, you insulted me and this Council earlier with your outburst,"--he self-consciously fumbled with common tongue pronunciation here but did not self-correct so as not to give an opportunity to any hyper-assertive figure in the room--"But I have been informed as to why you would be so emotionally inclined to such behavior. You have mine and the whole of the Aldarminian Empire's condolences. Unfortunately," he took a knee before the Briskan, "no Imperial delegation will be able to attend the funeral to pay their respects to the fallen Empress, your wife, and for this discrepancy of honorable attendance, I, as a lawful representative of the Blood House Aszcheyko and the Grand Imperial Kosmokratium of Aldarminia, do hereby grant upon your family and the Briskan Empire a Holy Imperial Blessing of the Sovmestnydukhsha"

Besides the Blood Guard, Silvier was probably the only other if not one of the very few in the Chamber who would understand such a blessing's significance and its wider, historical and cultural implications, but nonetheless, Olav hurriedly took his place to kneel behind Ryslander. Perhaps the general confusion at this action had worked to Ryslander's advantage (in more ways possibly than one considering tradition itself was held in high esteem among many of the Goths) for even after his moments of silence, he was able to rise again and continue his speech.

"In the light of this blessing, I must speak truly that there still lies within me a personal disdain for you, Lord Tristan, for your accusation of apathy levied against the Gothic Council in generality. I am, by far after my adopted mother the Grand Empress, the most Gothic-by-blood of any member of my family. Despite this, no one in my family more than my adopted father, the Grand Emperor Dalikharl II, is more indebted to the nations and peoples of Gholgoth," he turned to face again all the Gothic Council, "It was the Goths who harbored my father as but a young boy against the assassins the Ashrocmhar the Usurper. It was the Goths who quelled the Northwestern Folly of Invasions that the Aldarminian Imperial Guard had been deceived into. It was on Gothic ships with Gothic soldiers that my father sailed to the Dalekogoradom, the Aldarminian Homeland, to reclaim his Throne. It was with the backing of Gothic coin that the reconstruction of my nation was financed. Not Dienstadi. Not Far Western. Not Texan. Nay. Gholgoth is what breathed fresh life into Aldarminia. And did we call upon the Gothic Lords and their Council for a summit to plea for help? Konichnonet! Adnyet! No, we did not. We trusted our fellow Goths to answer when called upon. Did all answer? No, but did we whine about the plight of our people and only our people? Of course not! We were and are still strong. Yes, there have been dishonorable levels of inaction growing-nay-festering throughout the region, but this Council, contrary to what you claimed earlier is the antithesis to that apathy."

Ryslander had to nearly shake himself out of the sprawl of what was becoming of a soliloquy. He breathed a barely-audible sigh before furthering his point, "So do not speak to me about the Council or its Lords have or have-not done. We are here, and so are you now, fortunately. If it were not for your outburst, I would name you right now as Aldarminia's vote for Executor. Alas, I must carry on, so long as there are no objections?"

None arose in the mere second Ryslander would have allowed them. He marched himself carefully so as to face the Kraven Submarine Captain in such a way as to bisect the whole of the Council with his and Skaro's opposed lines-of-sight.

"We, or rather, I do not think I am better than you because I have been borne to my position--to echo somewhat our Lamehkan colleagues--but rather because you are Kraven. Scum of Reich scum. Capper. Even worse, a wannabe vatspawn. Being young, I barely understand that none of us really chose how and to who or to what we are born, but I do know that all of us, even you reykhrevet, can and do choose how we live. You are not the lowly-oppressed. You are the self-oppressed. You were even granted the esteem of high military position. Even given a firearm. And what have you done? Votrushekaya to your disdain of us. You do not consider yourself among equals. You merely tolerate the burden we and our systems are to you. We could never and should never trust you. The fact we are gathered here by your people's, if I can call your superiors such, influences is unsettling, but here we are, dealing with a mess that is for once in my lifetime, though short, that the Reich is not the maker-of. While the other candidates I have reviewed in transparent fashion to this Council were done so in no particular order, let me make this even more clear, any Kraven on the face of this world would be the absolute last for either I or Aldarminia to ever consider for the position of Executor of Gholgoth."

He paused to make his way to the one exception to the handful of notes Zlobaskar had entrusted to him. Unlike the others, it was a whole sheet of ripped from the binding of legal-sized notepad. Ryslander held it aloft to reveal that the earlier agreed upon reforms had been copied in an ancient-like runiformic cypher. At the bottom of the long-page, twin carmine thumbprints resided near the left-hand corner. Ryslander proceeded to add his own in front of the whole council, ceremonial pin deftly removed from his tunic to draw his blood. Holding it aloft again, Ryslander finalized his words to the Gothic Lords and dignitaries, "What you see here is primarily symbolic, yes, but it is for all intents and purposes a replication of the agreements we have already made today. A testament to an inch of progress for the leagues of it that lay in our future. Krovotmechnny, blood-marked in triplicate by the Blood House Aszcheyko, sovereigns over the Grand Imperial Kosmokratium of Aldarminia. Those of you," Ryslander could barely restrain himself from glaring at the Scandin, "Who would refuse the democratic will of this Council and lay waste to Gothic cities for sport or faith should consider yourselves relieved of your titles as Gothic Lords."

Returning to his seat, Ryslander made sure to offer his apologies to Lucas Ironwing that his duel with Zlobaskar had to be postponed. And in as audacious of a mood as he had ever been, the Aldarminian Prince Ryslander passed by Bebe to give him a message from the Throne-Heir Zlobaskar, "Be a man and leave your mark, if you dare. And Zlobaskar says that he looks forward to your duel with him."

Somewhere in the Empire...

"...I say again: All assets stand down and degrade to Standard Defensive Condition. Voynmakta Stridmakt, you have control. High Command, out."

The Bolshmakt collapsed next to the kitchen counter his "football" had been . As if holding up the intangible burden of millions if not billions of lives had physically weakened his legs, he found it exceedingly painful to even try to stand any longer. He had had not the slightest clue as to how long he was "at-post," standing over the array of electronics on the counter giving orders, collating reports, establishing protocols, conferring with fellow Bolshmakta, et cetera et cetera. He pulled off his head set an dug out the flask of whiskey that he kept in his inner coat pocket alongside a tobacco cigar. After a couple of swigs from the flask, he resolved to light the cigar. The occasion had come, and now it was passed and passing.

He barely noticed that his wife, a National Academic Circuit teacher and Naukonnar of the Imperial Science Bureau, had returned from work. She, however, did notice the signs that he had just been "at work." After setting down her purse and removing her outer coat, she sat down next to her husband. Softly, carefully, almost-in-a-whisper, she inquired, "And?"

The Bolshmakt pulled his wife in close to kiss her and embrace her maddeningly. "Everything's just fine."

Anhavirnjogr

Maynard Katz was quite pleased with himself. It had been a good day despite the emergency measures that had gripped the city and the rest of the Aldarminian Empire after the nuclear explosion by Mille Mortifere. The shrieking of the sirens had stopped. All that remained were the latent armored convoys and Imperial Guard foot-patrols. If anyone so much as approached these directly, they were met by an improvised firing squad formation that was usually enough to frighten the run-of-the-mill dissident or general trouble-maker. Maynard was neither, today. Just a humble, expat pedestrian whose errands and ventures had been only mildly perturbed by the sudden and momentary spiral into martial law. He had become so used to the incessant drills of this potentially-paranoiac country that the “Real Deal” barely bothered him at all.

Or was there another reason he had been so unconcerned? The men and drones shadowing him believed so.

Katz’s walking route to his residential complex, the Orazhnabyrga, was scenic-by-design. The luxury condominiums were located and constructed with a foreign face-and-feel in mind. With the approval of the city government, the lots the complex was built on had been re-zoned from government-commercial to residential so that the Orazhnabyrga could lie on the boundary between the opulent Vlastnaya Residential Sector and the Government Sector, informally known as “Old Anhavirn.”

Old Anhavirn was where architects of the Empire faced a daunting challenge: To blend pleasingly the old and the new. Some would say they failed over the decades, but Maynard found the constant contrast delightful if not disturbing at times.

As he passed the Memorial of the Anhavirnjogr attacks that had gripped the city with chaos and fear only a few months before the Usurper’s War, Katz wondered at the feat of artistic engineering and its surroundings that epitomized the “Boringly bleak or breathtakingly bold” saying of critics of Aldarminian aesthetic.

The Memorial was a massive perspective piece centered in the gradually sloped crater where the magnificent Anhavirnjogr Visoka had once been before the planes destroyed it. There were various steps sat at a diagonal along the crater’s walls angling around the piece so that the perspective portrayals could be seen in a preferable sequence depending on where one started. First, there was the depiction of the great cathedral (or shrine-temple as the endonym suggested) in all its glory to symbolize how Aldarminia and this city will always rise above its misfortunes.

Then, in macabre Aldarminian style, there were the gruesome and brutal depictions of the attacks themselves. Everything from the planes crashing into the Visoka and the surrounding square to the dog-and-gunman attacks and of course the bombings. However, at the very bottom of the crater-divot, the entire piece spiraled into a one hand pulling out another from the rubble, a testament to the bravery and fortitude of the rescuers and survivors. In the perspective shifts themselves, one could see that the artwork was engraved with the names of the five-thousand-or-so people who had died there. It was truly a marvel to behold.

After this umpteenth visit to the Memorial, Maynard continued to make his journey to the Orazhnabyrga. Arriving at the back, as the footpath that meandered between the city blocks proscribed, Katz was greeted by construction workers on break blocking the entrance.

“Maintenance and renovations,” the burly, ethnic Aldyrman said as smoke rose from his cigarette, “Ya gotta go up front.”

Maynard nodded his thanks as was the local custom and made his way around the building through the alleyway that separated the towering structures and the single-floor entrance construct to its mostly-underground parking garage. The façade of the Orazhnabyrga was eminently designed around a semi-circular drive-through port (something of an innovation at the time the complex was built many decades ago) that allowed the rich and their cohorts to pull up straight from their nights of notoriety to deliver themselves to their homes whilst the complex’s valets or their personal chauffeurs delivered their automobiles to the garage. However, usually, these days, the port was all-but-empty save the valets of course at the midday hours. The recent decadal trends of urban and pedestrian appeal as well as the determination to “go green” made the elite more inclined to promenade escapades.

Today, though, instead of valets and uncovered concrete, there were black vans. Maynard stopped meters from one of the resident-accessible side doors that had a magnetic strip card lock. He realized, There had been no postings on either net or physically in the lobby about any maintenance and certainly not renovations…

He examined the vans for a moment in suspicion before he concluded almost-certainly, Grazhdanshny Raszudok y Okhranjh Byuro… Civil Intelligence and Security Bureau… What idiot…?

In seconds, Maynard had his answer. Two Dorozhkamaizda exited out from the door he was about to enter; two more approached him from the sidewalk leading to the main entrance; two more appeared from the side sliding door of the unmarked black van nearest to Katz. He was surrounded except for… He tried to turn but he saw a Polovhyssar, a higher-ranking CISB, flanked by Imperial Vanguardsmen who had their rifles pointed firmly at the expat Pudite.

The Polovhyssar, balaclava-ed like the rest of the CISB agents and even the Vanguardsmen, read from a small scroll-tablet in the Pudite language, “Maynard Katz. Gholgoth Regional Visa Identification Number two-three-eight-nine-dash-eks-zhee-vai-five-dash-six-one. By Order of His Imperial Majesty Dalikharl, second of his name, of the Blood House Aszcheyko, Grand Emperor of the Great Aldarminian Empire and its Panaldarminium and in accordance with the laws of the Grand Imperial Kosmokratium of Aldarminia, you are under arrest for crimes pertaining to cyber and nuclear terrorism against allies-of-state and against the region of Gholgoth. You are stripped of special immunity privileges, and you relinquish all rights to counsel and international due process pending a thorough investigation to be completed by the arresting-entity, the Civil Intelligence and Security Bureau of Aldarminia. Do you comply?”

Maynard could barely breathe, let alone voice words. This apparently irritated the Polovhyssar who explicated professionally anyway, “Let me remind you that in accordance with Kosmokratic law, upon review of the charges listed here,” gesturing to the scroll-tablet, “On the warrant for your arrest, and upon review of your compliant behavior, or lack thereof, I am granted the authority and the power,” gesturing then to the Vanguardsmen, “To have you sentenced to death right now by improvised firing squad. Do you comply?”

Maynard had barely finished nodding when everything went black.

Posted: **Wed Jun 06, 2018 11:12 pm**

“My hands are of your colour, but I shame to wear a heart so white.”

-- Lady Macbeth in "Macbeth" by William Shakespeare

The Gothic Chambers, Citadel City
Havensky

There was a saying in Kylarnatia: "Do not lie to your mother, lest you wish to face her fury."

The Caesar had been lied to, and she did not like it. She had years of practice and practical experience to know how to control her emotions and conceal them, and she did that well, but the revelation brought forward by Captain Skaro that he and Atticus had been working together sent her blood to boiling point and left a sunken feeling in her chest. She had spent the rest of that first session trying to understand in her mind what had happened and what else the Skyans might have been doing. It was no secret that they were tactful people who sought to resolve all things through diplomacy before anything else, but this crossed a line. "Surely they knew it couldn't be that easy? Surely they had to be aware that there would be a cost for this?" As soon as the session had concluded she and her entourage had taken the time to find a private room where she could deliberate what had happened, and respond appropriately. It was not long until a message was dispatched to Atticus, requesting a private audience with him once the summit was concluded. She needed answers, but until then the matters at hand needed to be addressed.

Kylarnatia was not going to stand in front of the Reforms despite all of this. They had worked so hard with the Skyans to put them together - and had been cultivating their relationships with the other Gothic states for some time in preparation of breathing new life into the Alliance. It could not all be jeopardised now. Then there was Tristan's response to the proposal to consider: his outburst, if one could call it that, was a very clever move in order to make a point. A point which Silvier couldn't find fault with, for he was right: despite all the efforts the Imperium were making, and all the influence it and Silvier had cultivated, things were clearly moving too quickly. Discussions were had with attachés, a call to the Ministry of Foreign and Imperial Affairs to seek counsel. The time was still inevitably coming, but it was not today. Not at this time.

It was not long until the chamber was reconvened, and the debate resumed with discussion of the position of Executor and who should take it. The Caesar sat silently as she felt the weight of her coin in her hand, occasionally riding it through her fingers, which remained quite dexterous despite being encased in her golden gauntlet. The angelic wings of her ceremonial attire fell effortlessly over the back of her seat at the table, almost shielding the view of the many attachés working quietly behind her. They worked to and fro; taking accurate record of all the words being spoken, cross-checking all the facts as best they could while also providing the Caesar with accurate updates on all relevant issues happening outside the chamber. That's when Katya and the children--all except the mysterious Ryslander--left, and then she discovered why less than a minute later: a nuclear explosion a few hundred miles east of Mille Mortifere, close to Shen Almaru. Intelligence was still being collated by the Imperium Antiquum High Command, but the Caesar knew that her Fifth Fleet had Carrier Strike Groups within a days journey of the estimated fallout zone, for they had been placed there to monitor the growing tension in the area. Using a tablet at her disposal, she sent the order over encrypted channels: Dux Praefector Netos of the Fifth Fleet will dispatch all available forward elements to the area to monitor and help control the situation. Imperium Antiquum High Command to offer assistance to Pudite High Command and coordinate with them and the Drakonians. -- G.M..

Quickly her attention snapped back to the meeting as names began to be put forward for the Executor position. She listened closely: Godsend Emperor Tristan Skragg, Captain Skaro, Emperor Nathan and Praetor Augustus. Words were exchanged by all the relevant parties: some polite, some not so. All the while the Caesar listened, and observed her distorted reflection on the surface of the coin she now held in the palm of her hand. As soon as the Aldarminian Prince Ryslander had finished his last word, Silvier stood. The acolyte who still remained loyally by her side moved out of the way so that she could begin to walk around the table, pausing for a moment before the pulpit to look around at the stain glass windows. The faces of the original Gothic Lords, the scenes of the many Gothic Wars; it struck the fire within her that would fuel her coming words.

"Gholgoth. The very mention of its name inspires fear and dread to millions--nay, billions--across the globe. The wars that have been fought in these lands have been some of the bloodiest and most destructive this world has ever known, and those who have been brave...or if you prefer, foolish enough to venture here have been engulfed in flames so bright and so violent, that sailors during the Age of Exploration used to illustrate this place on the map as being filled with giant sea serpents and dragons."

Turning swiftly on her heel, the Caesar resumed walking around the table. "Our decisions here today will have a profound impact in ways we may not even be able to comprehend: do we intend to keep being the stuff of myth and children's nightmares, or can we become something much more?" She did not look at anyone immediately, but whenever anyone's eyes met with hers, she looked deeply into their souls. "We are all sown from the same fabric, bound within the same cloth that if pulled apart will rip and tear and cause consequences so destructive that it has been spelled out very succinctly in our line of sight just to make sure we don't forget." She smirked just a little, gesturing towards the last stain glass window which read the phrase 'Ultima Bello'.

"These reforms are the first step of hopefully many that will help guarantee longstanding peace and security for the Gothic states, which will allow us to once again project our might and power outwards to the corners of the earth, taking our place as the hegemonic powers we have the capability to be. But there are many affairs to get in order before that can happen, and the most pressing matter is that concerning the impending outside force from the Golden Throne seeking to act in retaliation against the Scandinvans." Silvier shot a glance at the Crown Prince Fenric before returning her attention to the rest of the Chamber. "Before we can even discuss that though, we must have mediation. This is why I'm glad that the Executor has been reintroduced--a proposal that the Imperium Antiquum brought forward--and for that I thank all of you for backing it."

"I know there are some amongst you that feel I would be suitable for this role, and for that I am grateful." Silvier shot a brief glance towards Ryslander, and then to Atticus. "Since the early days of the silence that has fallen over the Freekish Empire, I have done all that I can to bring this region together in times of crisis. The Imperium Antiquum has committed its resources - and the lives of its sons and daughters - to upholding peace and stability to the best of it's ability, and it will continue to do so, regardless of what happens in these discussions. Should it be the Council's will to select me, then I will accept it, and I will answer any and all questions posed to me. Should it be the will of the Council to select another, we shall accept that as well. To that end, I shall respond to the present nominations and endorse the candidate that I feel most suitable at the present time."

The Caesar promptly turned her attention to the first nominee for Executor, Godsend Emperor Tristan Skragg of Dephire. The two knew each other personally: Silvier had agreed to give refuge to Tristan and his Templars when they were expelled from Briska, and then committed Imperium forces to the successful efforts to reclaim it. She considered him a personal friend, but this was not a personal matter. "Emperor Tristan is one of the strongest men I have ever met. He and the Templars of Briska are without equal and it was an immense honour to be graced with their company during darker years. My people and I look proudly back upon the things we have achieved together. In any other situation, especially in the midst of conflict, I would seek the Godsend Emperor's guidance without a second thought. Fortunately however conflict can still be averted, therefore I believe the wise Templars energies are better suited elsewhere..."

Looking directly into his eyes, she took a brief moment to speak to him directly, using an old Dephirian language that she had learnt while in the company of the Templars during their time in Kylarnatia. "Clouds are gathering in the West, my friend. You will be needed there, and it will be my honour to stand alongside you once again, should you wish it."

Next was Captain Skaro of the Reich. Lord Hyperion, who had remained at the side of Silvier's throne at the table, had not taken his eyes off of him since he had revealed himself to be present. Had this been any other setting, he would have struck him down in an instant. Despite the unease about the Skyans decision to deal with him, the Imperium had to play nice for now. The Caesar came face to face with the Captain, standing just slightly taller than him as she looked down into his eyes, locking with them for what was probably only a few seconds but what felt like an eternity. While he was certainly much more human than any other Kravenite, he was still a Kravenite, and Silvier could feel the machine that he belonged to drumming deep within him. It must have made quite a stark contrast: her angelic, almost divine-like appearance as opposed to his very common demeanour. She said nothing; she looked him over once, looked back at him--and with the smallest slither of a smirk--moved on. She would have to break his neck another day.

Emperor Nathan was next, but Silvier turned her attention to the young Valentina instead. Her motherly nature engaged, and she wore a broad smile. "Sweet Valentina, you do both your father and your country proud! While the future is always a mystery there are a few certainties that like to present themselves in the present to give us a taste of what is to come, and I announce it here now to all those present with the upmost certainty that the Ghantish people are destined to play a pivotal role in the future of this region and the world, for indeed they are already beginning to do so. You and all your siblings have a very bright future, Valentina, and I intend to make sure that the Imperium Antiquum is there with you every step of the way. Indeed, I have seen that..." Silvier then took a brief glance at Sara, the Princess Imperial of Ghant before then looking over at the young man who now occupied her throne at the table: Haeres Julianus Silvanus, Heir to the Throne of the Imperium Antiquum.

Earlier...

[OOC: Contributions from Havensky]

“Lucas, Jessica: please allow me to introduce you to my son, Julianus. He has decided to come and join us here so that he can gain some experience in Gothic diplomacy.” Silvier brought Julianus forward to the Ironwings. He smiles warmly at them both, and pounds his chest with his left arm while bowing his head: the Kylarnatian salute. Julianus had just turned fourteen years of age and stood at around 6’2”, his sleek black hair gleaming in the light of the room while he stood tall. His build was still quite slim but his shoulders were broad, suggesting that he would be able to bulk up at the appropriate age. The heir to the Imperium Antiquum's throne was dressed as ornately as his mother, except that his armour was silver instead of gold, cape purple instead of sanguine, and his set of wings were not as large as Silvier’s. A Kylarnatian scimitar was on his belt and under his other arm he carried a plume helmet.

“Your Majesties, it is a great honour. I am the Haeres Julianus Kain Silvanus of the Imperium Antiquum, Firstborn of my beloved mother and Caesar and the Centurion of the Fangthane Palace Guard.” His position as Centurion was a ceremonial role bestowed to all the heirs, a first taste of military command from quite a young age. Ever since the age of five, Julianus had taken it quite seriously, observing the changing of the Guard each morning on horseback.

“I have heard many great things about you from my mother, who like my people, hold you in the highest of regards. Rightly so, I believe, due to your actions to keep the peace not only here in Gholgoth, but across the world.”

Jessica and Lucas both smiled at once. He was very well spoken and quite strapping for a fourteen year old. Already, he was taller than Lucas who often wondered what they fed the kids up north. It was Jessica who replied to the young prince.

“We thank you for your kind words. I see you are indeed a very fine captain. How are you liking Citadel City?”

“While I’ve only been able to see a small part of it thus far, I do enjoy the atmosphere. When I was younger I was captivated by the news of it’s construction, and I’m glad to see it has become such a shining beacon in an otherwise unstable part of our region.”

“When you were younger,” Lucas remarked lightheartedly. “Don’t make me feel any older than I already am this city’s still pretty new. Perhaps we can steal you from the north for some training at Citadel Military College when the time comes?”

Lucas had an eye for talent and he clearly saw that the young man had been educated from the get go for government service. He’s make a fine addition to the Academy. Skyan officers not only needed to be good with destruction, but diplomacy as well and it seemed he had a knack for speaking.

At this point, Julianus actually looked towards his mother. Smiling, she spoke. “That is a wonderful proposal, Lucas. While usually the education of the Haeres is very heavily controlled by myself and the Fangthane Palace, we do make certain exceptions when we know there are desirable experiences elsewhere. I think, when the time comes, it’d be beneficial for Julianus to spend a semester abroad with you at Citadel University to not only get some experience of the international world, but to also benefit greatly from your tutelage.”

Julianus then turned back. “It would indeed be my honour, your Majesty, when the time comes. While I do not dare wish to speak as if my mother is going anywhere any time soon, I am even now encouraged to consider where I believe the Imperium Antiquum should head under my direction. I truly believe that the relationship between our two nations will be pivotal for years to come, and together we can continue to be a force for good and stability in the world.”

“That’s fantastic. I’m sure we’ll talk more about it as we get closer to time. in the meantime if you’d like a tour of the Legionary Training Groups I’m taking some of the other kids there during the meeting.”

“Actually, I was very much hoping I’d be able to witness the meeting. That is why I decided to attend, after all.” Julianus smiled politely. “However, I would definitely be up to seeing the Legionary Training Groups at another time.”

Jessica turned her head to the side ever so slightly. This young man was certainly on his best behavior. She wondered if he was always like this or if he would end up getting into trouble once out of the gaze of his mother.

“Very well then.” replied Jessica, “Then we’ll see you at the meeting! It was nice meeting you Julianus.”

“The pleasure was all mine, your Majesties.” Julianus bowed once more, while the Caesar observed with reserved but clearly evident pride.

When he stood straight again, she placed a hand on his shoulder and whispered. “Now, do go and mingle with the children. They will be your counterparts one day on this stage, so it’d be good to make a strong first impression.”

“I agree. I shall return before the meeting commences. Love you, mother.” With that, Julianus departed for the children. Despite his insistence on using formalities in most of his conversations, he would still never go without telling his mother he loved her.

“I love you too, my baby boy.” Silvier uttered quietly while watching him walk off, his head held high.

[OOC: Contributions from Ghant]

Julianus spent some time walking around the room, not making his approach towards the other children too obvious, noting all the various dignitaries and heads of state who had already arrived. Every so often he would look back around to see where his mother was, or at least where a fellow native of his homeland was, just in case he ever got cold feet and wanted to retreat from mingling. While he was being prepared more and more for public and private engagements it did give him nerves from time to time, and he was grateful that he still had the privilege of backing out if he wanted to. At least for now.

The Crown Prince of Ghant went off brooding, clearly disappointed that his bout with the Skyan king was cut short, by the steel arm of the queen, no less. Bebe’s sisters lurked on the periphery, watching casually, and gossiping amongst each other. “Such a shame,” Valerie said with a yawn to her sisters, “I wanted to see him get knocked on his ass. It’s long overdue, especially considering all the palace men-at-arms go easy on him.”

“That’s because they fear mother’s retribution should he get hurt,” Sara told her younger sister sagely. “Mother doesn’t want him fighting anyway, and woe be to the man that enables him.” Sara observed her youngest half-sister Valentina scamper around with Bebe and the Aldarminians, taunting them all no doubt, for there were none so brazen as the young fiery haired princess. Blanche on the other hand hung back, being a naturally shy girl that preferred to float in shrinking fashion near her older half-sisters.

“Mother’s naive, then,” Valerie shook her head. “Because he does it anyway and goads men to spar with him. He tells them that when he’s Emperor, he’ll remember who indulged his requests, and who refused him. Father won’t be Emperor forever you know, and once he’s gone...Bebe will begin his reign swiftly. Good men of Ghant know this, so why refuse him? That’s why King Ironwing should’ve got him...because mother can’t reprimand him!”

Sara looked gravely at her younger sister. Valerie thought she knew everything, but in fact, she knew very little. “No, but she can reprimand father, and you know she would too. God knows they spend enough time fighting already…”

“...and yet, they always seem to make up, don’t they?” Valerie asked rhetorically. “Plenty of babies are proof of that…”

Julianus’ mother had explained to him the commotion he had only just missed, and so for a while his focus was exclusively on Bebe, who was continuing to antagonise the other royal children from Aldarminia. This prince - “A boy, really” were Julianus’ initial thoughts - would one day be his fellow counterpart in leading the world. His mother had always taught him to never judge too quickly, however, especially when it came to the people you had to work with. One premature judgement could cost you a valuable ally, or make you gullible to a potential enemy.

It would be good for him to converse with Bebe at some point during this coming weekend of talks and discussions, at the very least for the good photo opportunity and piece of history it’d create. Julianus knew the value of that. But no, now would not be the time for that. The Ghantish Crown Prince was still too busy being a child right this moment, as was his right - just as it was Julianus’ to not socialise if he so wished - but for them to talk they would have to talk as heirs. “Warriors must also master the weapons of verse, not just the weapons of war.”

Tightening his grip on the helmet underneath his right arm and resting his left hand on the hilt of his sheathed scimitar, he then looked to the edges of the room and noticed the three princesses looking on from afar. They were his sisters, and the Caesar had joked to her son once: “If you want another boy to really take you seriously while putting him on the backfoot, talk to his sister.”

It was a mischievous way of teaching him diplomacy, but he had gained plenty of experience at it in his school's dining hall, the thought of which made him pull a sly smile. It was time to see if it’d work in the real world.

Approaching the princesses, the Haeres bowed gracefully before all of them. “Your Imperial Majesties, allow me to formally introduce myself. I am Haeres Julianus Kain Silvanus, Firstborn of my beloved mother and Caesar and the Centurion of the Fangthane Palace Guard. It is a pleasure to meet all of your acquaintances.”

He stood up straight once more and smiled warmly at all of the girls, then spoke straight to the eldest, Sara. His mother had pointed her out to him specifically. While Bebe was going to be his direct counterpart one day, Sara presented something more. According to his mother, she was by far the strongest in the Ghantish litter. “I certainly cannot wait to get to know you better. We’ll all be the adults in this room one day. This is history in the making.”

Princess Valerie giggled, and cut off her older sister, who was in the process of responding. “Your name is Hairs, like on your head, or hares like rabbits?” she asked with a snigger. This prompted Sara to glance sternly at her, before quickly recomposing herself.

“Pardon my sister, your Highness,” Sara informed the prince. He was rather tall, nearly a foot taller than the girls, prompting them to look up at him. “She thinks she’s funny. I am Sara, Princess Imperial of Ghant,” she said with a deep, elegant curtsey.

“High Princess Valerie,” the younger princess said with a similar curtsey, though less refined.

“...Pa...Princess Blanche, your Highness,” the third and final of them stammered out, her manners good, but her social poise a bit rough around the edges.

Julianus smiled politely at all of them, turning. “Sara, Valerie, Blanche.” He acknowledged each in turn, giving a slight bow as each curtsied.

“And please, you may just call me Julianus when we’re speaking directly. We’re all human; at least, I was the last I checked. Haven’t had an unusual craving for carrots lately.” He winked, taking control of the joke that Valerie tried to make. Another thing his mother had taught him: if someone makes a bad joke, take control of it. If you get the laughs, you come off better as a result. “Though I must say, this event certainly has a craving of it’s own. Could any of you imagine that we’d be in this room now, surrounded by all these powerful people? With all these…”

He took some time to observe the scene around them, taking another glance at where Bebe was before looking back to the princesses, specifically at Sara. “...beautiful people.” He smirked. You guessed it, his mother: Make her laugh, then make her smile. Then you’ve got her attention.

Indeed, Sara laughed, and smiled, and though she might not have noticed, she did blush a little. “Julianus it is then, and so well spoken! As to your inquiry, it is as my father said. That gatherings of Gothic Lords are not minor affairs. Powerful people are plenty in number, as should be expected.”

Valerie sniggered too, but she seemed far less taken by the Prince’s charms. “I’ve been looking for Kravenites, but I haven’t seen any. I heard that they wear gas-masks and dress in black, and wear black gloves so that you can’t see any part of their skin, because it’s ugly. It’s ugly because they’re grown in VATS in deep underground labs, and treated like monsters from the time they’re hatched.”

Julianus noticed that Sara blushed, but before he could say anything more to her Valerie had mentioned the Kravenites. While he kept his calm composure, his muscles tensed; luckily that wasn’t visible due to his armour, though he did re-adjust the grip he had on the hilt of his scimitar. “I’m afraid you won’t be seeing one of them here; my mother tells me they’re not the social type. Even if you did, you’d be lucky to get a glimpse of them before Lord Hyperion over there,” Julianus drew their attention to the behemoth, who was standing on the other side of the room, scanning over it like the sentinel he was. “Cleaved through them with his axe. Kravenites might be scary, but he’s terrifying. They might be monsters grown underground, but he’s a son of the Grand Mother. He can also tell you quite a bit about Kravenite anatomy: his men brought back quite a few ‘souvenirs’ from the shores of Fortress Norska after the First Milograd War.”

“Oh? Like what?” Valerie asked with piqued curiosity.

“That’s beside the point,” her sister countered politely. “The point is that the Kravenites do not frequent such functions, because that is not their way. A strange thing really, to think that they were members of the Gothic Pact, and yet their allies within the region seem few and far between.”

“...Father says he would rather break bread with an ice troll than a Kravenite,” Valerie sniggered under her breath, “and ice trolls aren’t even real, but the stories said that they picked their teeth with the bones of naughty children!”

Sara forced a smile at Julianus. “My sister has a wild imagination, doesn’t she? Might I digress, your Highness, Lord Hyperion is a truly magnificent spectacle. I’m sure you sleep very well at night knowing such a noted warrior is never far away.”

“When he was young he refused to sleep at all.” The sudden sound of the deep, booming voice of Lord Hyperion caused even Julianus to flinch a little, losing the smile he had given Sara in response to hers. He and the princesses were now all caught in the Lord’s long and wide shadow, and they were all the direct focus of his fiery gaze. Julianus returned to ceremony and bowed in respect, even taking his left hand off the hilt of his blade, turning it into a fist and pounding his chest in salute.

“Lord Hyperion, it is great to see you. Allow me to introduce you to--”

“I know who they are.” Hyperion stood like a guardian made of stone; not a single part of him moved, and his armour was so large and so heavy that it was impossible to tell whether he was breathing at all.

“Of course.” Julianus nodded, before looking back to the princesses. “We were all just introducing each other, and then the High Princess Valerie wondered when the Kravenites would be arriving, to which the Princess Imperial Sara and I elaborated that would not be happening.”

Blanche began to stammer on quivering legs. “...That’s a very large man…”

“Indeed it is.” Another masculine voice said melodic from behind her, and another man stepped forward. “Ser Rolli Ahateremu, at your service...though perhaps you already knew that, o’ Lord Hyperion.” the Knight of Ducks had to look up to see Lord Hyperion, despite being six foot six. Perhaps among anyone else, Rolli might have been an imposing figure, but around the likes of the exalted Hyperion, he was but a small man indeed. “Forgive me...for my intrusion, your highnesses. His Majesty the Emperor is wary of strange and powerful men around his daughters...especially ones that he doesn’t know.” While Hyperion was certainly an intimidating figure, Rolli had a wide, crooked smile and flickering blue eyes, beneath an enameled duck helm.

“Ser Rolli is a great knight, a good man and true,” Sara spoke highly of her father’s champion. “He means no disrespect. A good guardian errs on the side of caution, is that not true?”

Valerie giggled uneasily before the great Lord Hyperion, and pointed out that. “He wasn’t always a great knight. Before father met him up north, he was a hedge knight who got kicked out of his hometown for punching the local lord’s son in the face...so hard that it broke his nose.”

Rolli smiled again. “My father was a blacksmith at Castle Iuza, and on my sixteenth birthday, my father gave me a sword of castle-forged steel. The Lord’s son saw this and tried to claim it, but I wasn’t giving it up. He tried to take it from me, and I knocked ‘em on the nose. Of course I had to flee, but I got to keep the sword,” he explained with a grin as he patted his scabbard, the sword in its sheath. “And good fortune has blessed me ever since.”

“Fascinating.” Hyperion murmured, having turned his head slightly to look down to Ser Rolli so as to listen to his story. He then glanced over towards his own weapon, the greataxe Nightbane, which glimmered in the light before turning his attention towards the Princess Imperial. “Indeed, though I can tell him that your father the Emperor is very well aware of who I am, but perhaps that is exactly why Ser Rolli chose to join us to begin with.”

Julianus laughed heartedly. “Lord Hyperion enjoys himself more at these gatherings then he ever likes to admit. Rumour is back home he can be quite sociable when he chooses to be, though I’ve yet to see it.”

Hyperion ignored the Haeres, moving on the discussion back to what was originally being discussed before the two guardians interfered. “The Kravenites may be born underground, and they may work like emotionless machines, but in the end they are still flesh and bone. They still bleed the same as us, and thus they still die the same. Strip away that tainted skin and their skulls are no different from the thousands of others I have collected.” Lifting his long cape, he revealed a skull fastened to his belt, which had C.M. MMXIX etched across its forehead.

At the sight of the skull, Blanche yelped and Valerie shrieked...the latter picked up the skirt of her gown and ran away, with Blanche trailing after her. Sara remained, standing still and quietly, though Rolli looked amused. “On the contrary, Lord Hyperion, perhaps I chose to join you because I knew you’d send the little princesses running in terror.”

“...That’s a rather impressive trophy,” Sara said, though not without some unease. “I wouldn’t dare inquire how you came to acquire it...that seems like it would be very impolite conversation…for a girl my age…”

“All that you need to know, Princess Imperial, is that you and your sister's feelings of unease are better kept in me than in the Kravenites. They feed off fear; take that away from them and they have nothing.” Hyperion watched as both Blanche and Valerie darted away, letting go of his cape so that the skull was concealed once again. Julianus laughed heartedly again, before turning his attention to the fact that the room seemed to be gathering and moving onwards. Hyperion noticed as well.

“I shall be joining the Caesar. Ser Rolli, Princess Imperial, Haeres.” The goliath Lord pounded his left gauntlet on his chest, creating a thunderous clap before turning swiftly on his heel and departing. Julianus returned the gesture.

“It looks like the show is about to begin.” He remarked, before looking over to Sara with another smile. He offered her his arm, “May I walk with you and Ser Rolli to the Chamber?”

“Your Highnesses...if you shall excuse me, I should go gather the scattered sheep.” Rolli bowed before showing himself off in the direction of the frightened princesses, leaving only Sara and Julianus in the wake of the recently departed champions.

Sara on the other hand smiled at Julianus, and accepted his invitation, gently and gracefully offering him her arm in return. “How could I refuse?” she said beaming. “Knowing my father, I’m sure it will be quite the show indeed. There’s never a dull moment with him in the room...I can only imagine that room being the Gothic Chamber!” while she teased her father’s reputation for making an entrance, she was careful to protect him, for he had a penchant for controversy the likes of which few Gothic Lords could hope to match.

Julianus chuckled, before linking his arm with Sara’s and beginning to guide her at a gentle walking pace in the direction of the Gothic Chamber. “Between you and me, I could say the same of my mother. She knows how to command people’s attention when she wants it, though there does seem to be a lot of colourful characters here today, so anything could happen. Lets at the very least hope it is productive, hm?”

“Oh, I have no doubt that it will be...very much so.” Sara walked gracefully towards the Gothic Chamber with Julianus, eager to see what events would unfold once the meeting was underway. The foreign Crown Prince was pleasant enough company, even if his champion scared her sisters. A part of her was afraid too, but as the oldest child it was her responsibility to face down fear...at least within reason.

Julianus smiled and for a moment looked directly ahead, seeing his mother flanked by both Hyperion and the acolyte, with her staff also following closely behind. He felt a great warmth in his chest, not only because of the love and admiration he had for his mother but also because he felt an incredible level of excitement in being present, if not also a tiny bit of nervousness. Even so, he would have to not let that overcome him too much, and should do as his step-mother told him: “just focus on enjoying yourself, and taking it all in whilst you’re there. You have no responsibility as an observer.”

“...That’s precisely what I’m worried about,” Sara replied, allowing herself a snigger.

Eventually the two arrived in the Chamber with the rest of those assembled, and even Julianus could not help but audibly gasp at the spectacle that was around them. He had heard that the Skyans had a passion for architecture, but he never thought they could go to such lengths. Taking some time to admire the stained glass windows in particular, he then looked around the room until he saw where the Ghantish entourage was located. Spotting them, he looked at Sara again and smiled, before walking her over. “Thank you for your company, Your Highness, and I hope I get the chance to talk to you again over this weekend.”

Walking Sara directly to her father as he was seated, he bowed gracefully to her first before turning his attention to the Emperor and the rest of his children and entourage, pounding his chest in salute and bowing separately before departing without saying a word, heading straight for his mother. There wasn’t enough time to strike up another conversation now that proceedings were about to begin, and besides, they would be able to figure out who he was from the direction in which he headed.

“You’re welcome,” she replied. “It was a great honor, and I hope I get the chance as well. Until next time.” After a deep curtsey, Sara joined her brothers and sisters in the chamber seats. The Crown Prince and his brothers were distracted, and so Sara was able to return without drawing notice. The Emperor, on the other hand, watched closely the comings and goings of Julianus, for the older man knew of the boy, but had little in the way of an opinion about him. As such he didn’t say anything, rather watching the prince depart. Sara, on the other hand, sat beside her sisters and steeled herself, for the meeting was about to begin in earnest.

Back to the Present...

"...But today, little one, is not that day." The Caesar brought her attention back to Valentina and the rest of the Ghantish delegation. "Emperor Nathan is a capable leader, but this situation is - by his own admission - is one that he does not wish to have any further stake in unless chosen to do so. It is one thing to be capable of wielding power and authority, it is another thing to be prepared and willing to accept it. It is for those reasons that I do not feel it right to endorse him for the role of Executor, for I feel it is much more valuable to have his voice here in this chamber as an impassioned defender of his own beliefs, rather than a neutral arbiter."

Therefore that only left one individual: Praetor Augustus Drake of the Drakonian Imperium. "Of all the nominations, Praetor Augustus Drake is perhaps best suited in this regard. I concur with the Lamhekian sentiments regarding his qualification, and have deduced from my personal interactions with the Praetor at this coming together alone that he is a man of sound mind and reason, which is most crucial for the role of Executor..."

Even Earlier...

[OOC: Contributions from Drakonian Imperium]

One group of guests who she locked eyes with in particular was the entourage from the Drakonian Imperium. The Praetor Augustus Valens Drake himself was present, alongside his daughter, the Crown Princess Liliana, and the Prime Minister of Mille Mortifere, Caius Paulus Argentius. Silvier had only really encountered the latter, for he had represented the Drakonian Imperium in Krytopia all the way back when Havensky was originally admitted into the Gothic Alliance, but she had been briefed extensively on the members of the Drakonian Imperial Family.

Having shared eye contact for a while, the Drakonians eventually approached, being guided along by their Skyan hosts.

“Nobilissima Caesar,” Augustus greeted, using the latin for ‘Most Noble Caesar’. “It is a pleasure to meet you.”

“Nobilissimo Praetor,” Silvier responded, passing back the same compliment. “The pleasure is all mine. I’ve heard many a great thing about you from our counterparts, past and present, and I’ve looked forward to this meeting for a while. Your televised address prior to this meeting caught my attention; it was inspiring. I hope that the report about me you were most likely briefed with prior to your arrival spoke as highly of me as mine did of you.”

“The report was quite glowing. It spoke highly of your actions in the region. The picture, I am afraid, did not do justice to your radiance. You are far more stunning than mere film can capture.” Augustus smiled, wryly before looking more serious. He had been known as a bit of a womanizer in his youth, before he had married, and occasionally the old flirtatious charm still shown through. “My own speech came far later than it should have. As the old saying goes, ‘Dragons are far too willing to let the world pass knowing it will still be there when they wake’.”

Silvier was no stranger to compliments from foreign dignitaries - she had received plenty already in her time here alone - but smiled politely in order to show a graceful gratitude. She then turned her attention to the others. “It is also a great pleasure to meet your beautiful daughter, and to be reaquainted with the Prime Minister after what seems to have been an age since we last met in Krytopia.”

“You are most kind,” Liliana responded, blushing.

Caius too smiled, bowing his head slightly. “Far too long, Caesar.”

“I was very pleased to learn about your renewed efforts against piracy in the region. With times getting as they are, lawless individuals are getting too optimistic about their chances. How are the operations going? I can say that my Imperial Navy has successfully dealt with any threats that have occurred in the north as it stands, and we intend to upscale our operations to the whole region in light of recent events.”

Augustus looked to Caius. “Not as well as they could be,” he said. “The Imperial Navy is mostly preparing for the coming conflict. Police actions have been largely limited to local forces in the islands.”

“The geo-maritime situation in Mille Mortifere must make combating pirates a lot more challenging, I have no doubt. We’re living in an age where conventional means of combat are becoming quickly outdated by other means, particularly when it comes to facing partisans. While it will require separate talks to organise such things, I’d be very keen to see my Imperial Navy supporting your own in this endeavour.”

The Caesar then hushed her voice slightly, so as to not attract too much attention from the rest of the room. “And of course, as I’m sure you’re no doubt aware, we want to increase our presence as a clear message of intent towards the Reich.” While that fact was indeed not something that the Imperium Antiquum hid away from, the way in which she went about saying it wasn’t in the normal diplomatic lingo, so did not want to attract too much attention for the break in formalities. Sometimes, it proved more effective to state your intentions bluntly.

The Praetor nodded. “We have the same concerns.”

Caius looked unsurprised. “Policing, indeed, governing in a Mille Mortifere is a challenge.”

To an outside observer, Mille Mortifere might seem nothing more than anarchy. Despite the Territorial Army and Navy, Mille Mortifere lacked most organs of centralized government that other states might recognize. The region was held together by a complex series of interlocking relationships between vast mega-corporations, mercantilists, feudal lordships, and most importantly the Navigator’s Guild. Before Drakonia had taken a more active role in the islands, the Navigator’s Guild was the government. The Navigator’s Guild controlled the shipping charts for the region and in an area as treacherous to sail and profitable to trade as Mille Mortifere, those charts gave the guild the power to govern.

“Absolutely fascinating.” Silvier had followed the conversation with a warm smile and polite nods, being genuine in her interest. A lot of what was said she had probably read before in a briefing, but inevitably some things slip. She then turned her attention exclusively to Liliana. “And what is the opinion of the future of Drakonia?”

“I think it is bright,” she responded after some thought. “Father has grown the Imperium larger than it has ever been. Whatever trials that await us in Gholgoth, we will grow the stronger for them.”

“I’m glad that you’re full of such optimism, even in the face of the growing storm around us. Definitely more than just a pretty face.” Silvier joked softly, but then became more serious. “From what my report on you said, I have every reason to believe you will build upon your father's’ accomplishments, if not surpass them entirely. I look forward to perhaps having the chance to work alongside you one day as a fellow Lord, and should that day ever come know that I am ready and willing to support you. The first few years of leadership can be very trying, especially from a young age, and I know what that’s like. While I have no overriding concerns about your abilities, I will not only be your equal in terms of Lordship, but I am also a fellow woman. Do not be afraid to speak your mind to me.”

“As do I, Ma’am.” Liliana smiled furtively. “As father will attest, I am not afraid of voicing my opinions.” A smirk and a nod from Augustus affirmed this.

Back to the Present...

"...Furthermore, the Drakonian Imperium is perhaps in the best situation geo-politically to help mediate in the upcoming matter. Lastly, it is striking to note that out of all the nominations, his is the only one that did not come from his own camp. If these talks are to go forward successfully, I think it vital that we're able to put our own interests aside." Caesar Silvier had now made her way back all the way around to her throne, from which Julianus promptly rose. "It is for those reasons, therefore, that I and the Imperium Antiquum back the nomination of Praetor Augustus Drake of the Drakonian Imperium for the position of Executor to arbitrate in this matter. I strongly encourage the rest of you to do the same."

Her grip on the coin still tight, she took one glance again around the room, stopping at the Aldarminian Prince Ryslander, to whom she had an attaché pass a private message which simply read: "I am here with you, young one. Allow me to guide you through these choppy waves, for here there be dragons." - Auntie Catherina

Posted: **Fri Jun 08, 2018 10:37 pm**

“Bebe Strikes Back”
The White Citadel
Citadel City, Havensky

Following Princess Valentina’s speech before the assembled Gothic Lords, Empress Silvier addressed the Ghantish princess. "Sweet Valentina, you do both your father and your country proud! While the future is always a mystery there are a few certainties that like to present themselves in the present to give us a taste of what is to come, and I announce it here now to all those present with the upmost certainty that the Ghantish people are destined to play a pivotal role in the future of this region and the world, for indeed they are already beginning to do so. You and all your siblings have a very bright future, Valentina, and I intend to make sure that the Imperium Antiquum is there with you every step of the way. Indeed, I have seen that..." Silvier looked towards Valentina’s half-sister Sara, and then at a boy in the chamber that Valentina assumed was Silvier’s son.

"...But today, little one, is not that day." The Caesar cast her gaze back upon the Ghantish. "Emperor Nathan is a capable leader, but this situation is - by his own admission - is one that he does not wish to have any further stake in unless chosen to do so. It is one thing to be capable of wielding power and authority, it is another thing to be prepared and willing to accept it. It is for those reasons that I do not feel it right to endorse him for the role of Executor, for I feel it is much more valuable to have his voice here in this chamber as an impassioned defender of his own beliefs, rather than a neutral arbiter. Therefore that only left one individual: Praetor Augustus Drake of the Drakonian Imperium. Of all the nominations, Praetor Augustus Drake is perhaps best suited in this regard. I concur with the Lamhekian sentiments regarding his qualification, and have deduced from my personal interactions with the Praetor at this coming together alone that he is a man of sound mind and reason, which is most crucial for the role of Executor..."

“Thank you, your Majesty,” was all Valentina managed to say before she became thoroughly distracted. Indeed, the assorted Princes and Princesses of Ghant began to at last trickle back in, Valentina’s brothers and sisters all finding their way towards seats near to her. Leading them was the swaggering Crown Prince Nathan, known amongst his siblings as “Bebe.” The boy shared his name with his father the Emperor, but that was where the similarities ended. Lavishly dressed and with a petulant look on his face, Bebe sat down next to Valentina and looked down at her with his deep, stormy blue eyes, while sweeping back some of his luxuriant dark brown hair.

“What’d I miss?” Bebe asked his younger half-sister with a hard pat on the back. “Not much, I take it. Probably just a bunch of posturing by these conniving Gothic Lords.”

Valentina gave him a stern gaze. “Just the Gothic Reforms. I’m sure father will show you them later…”

“I will see them now.” Bebe turned to Lara Jarasa, seated nearby, and demanded “I will have a copy of the legislation, my lady.”

“Of course, your Majesty.” With little hesitation, Lara passed the reforms and amendments to Bebe, as well as notes on the proceedings. Reviewing them quickly, Bebe let out a curt laugh. “Gothic Fortresses, eh? Father proposed a fourth in Briska? Appeasing for favors already, our father is!”

“…It’s vital for the defense of Gholgoth,” she countered coldly.

Bebe chuckled, and said that “right, because Gholgoth is surely in need of defense. Since when? No, Gholgoth just needs solidarity and strong leadership…no more domination by pansies and weaklings like father and the Skyans.”

The Crown Prince’s jaw dropped when he read the next bit. “Well, well sister, look at you! Going before the Gothic Lords and nominating our infamous father for the Executor!” Bebe sniggered so hard that he had to cover his mouth, lest it look like he was laughing in his sister’s face. “They should just elect Silvier and be done with it. She’s clearly the best suited for it.”

“No she’s not!” angrily replied Valentina in a huff that turned her face nearly as red as her hair. “Father is, I just know it.”

Bebe shooked his head, a smirk creeping across his face. “You are bold, sister, but a fool. The adoration you have for him is wasted…the man you believe he is…is merely an illusion.”

Valentina snapped back, “you don’t know anything, Bebe. Shut up!”

“I know more than you,” he snapped back. “I know father is a coward and a weakling, who couldn’t lead sheep to a pasture, let alone Gholgoth. You think these lords who’ve spent years laughing at him behind his back would suddenly choose him to lead them? You’re delusional if you think that a man who’s dominated by ambitious whores has the strength and courage to be Executor. Your mother…”

With a swift motion, Valentina lashed out to strike her half-brother across the face. Bebe was faster, and caught her by the wrist. “You’re too bold for your own good, sister, and one day that’s going to be ruin of you.” As for your mother…she’s the one responsible for tempting father to betray my mother, and for that she will answer to me when I gain the throne. When that day comes, you will think twice before raising a hand to me.”

After Bebe let go of Valentina’s arm, she went over to her half-sisters Sara, Valerie and Blanche. She didn’t say anything to them…she didn’t need to. They were there for her, and in that moment, with everything that had been done and said in that chamber, she cried into Sara’s shoulder, looking away from Bebe, her other brothers and most importantly her father and the rest of the Gothic Lords. She didn’t want them to see her cry, but unfortunately, it didn’t go unnoticed…

o o o o o o o

The Emperor of Ghant was beside himself at his own daughter’s speech on his behalf. She clearly believed in her heart of hearts that he should be Executor. How can she believe that when I do not even believe that myself? In fact, never in Nathan’s entire life had someone else believed in him the way that Valentina did right there in the Gothic Chamber. To say that it moved him was an understatement.

Halsley turned to look at the Emperor following Valentina’s speech. "I mean no disrespect, in all I have said and will say. You do have friends, Nathan. Everyone here has friends. Furthermore, everyone here is family. We have all grown together. Yes, we've waged wars on one another that slaughtered millions of our own people, but we can all work together to stop the bickering among ourselves and turn our anger towards those not of our region. Nathan, I cannot see my nation's vote going to a man who is not confident enough to own the Executor title. Perhaps when we hold the next election, which I assume is something we will do..." Halsley glanced at Atticus and added, "if we hold another election in the future, you may have had the time to earn my people's vote. In the meantime, my candidate is ready and willing to do what it takes to bring peace to this region. There will be changes that he hopes will be beneficial to all of Gholgoth. I will be sure that these changes happen."

”And Nathan,” the Dread Lord of Lamehk spoke next, addressing the Emperor. “The least worst option. I can't claim to know you very well, but you clearly don't want it and that tells me all I really need to know. I'd rather vote for the girl, I think. Pity she's not older, she certainly has the mettle for the job. One thing though Princess, the least worst option, is still among the worst options…and so we reach the part where you believe I will explain why you should vote for me instead.” Lorkahn looked around the room, and explained that “I could, of anyone in this room, I alone may have the best qualifications when it comes to keeping peace and order between various factions.”

The Aldarminian Prince chimed in, saying “I come to Lord Nathan of Ghant, but as Lord Tristan aptly pointed out earlier, he lacks both will and confidence thereof for the position. Might as well strike his name from the list, if you can forgive that blunt turn-of-phrase. However, the door shall remain open to our endorsement of his Executorial assent if he so chose to retract his earlier preemptive vote of no self confidence for the position.”

Like rain, they all poured down, the latest among them being Augustus Drake. "Tell me," Augustus looked across the table at Nathan. "If you had been Executor when this crisis started, what would you have done to stop it?" He looked towards the Skyans, and then added "before you answer, I’ll tell you what I would have done. My approach first would have been exactly what the Skyan’s attempted: Diplomacy."

Nathan felt the weight of the question…of the opinions shared about him. The weight of his daughter’s admiration, the weight of thirty years of wearing a crown that in the beginning was far too big for his head. So much to think about…so much to consider… so many things were swimming around in his head that he wasn’t even sure where to begin.

With a care, he looked over his shoulder towards his beloved daughter Valentina. Oh no, he thought after realizing that his other children had returned, chief among them his eldest son and heir Nathan, otherwise known as Bebe. He hates that nickname. He could see the Crown Prince arguing with Valentina about something, while also glancing condescending glances towards him. Never has a son so despised his own father as my son despises me.

Then to his horror, Nathan observed Valentina become so heated that she raised a hand to Bebe, only for the latter to intercept it. Mere moments later, he let go after some undoubtedly sharp words, and she went to her sisters. The Emperor’s usually tranquil demeanor changed, becoming more fierce as he saw her beginning to cry. Bebe had a look of smug satisfaction on his face at this spectacle, and turned his head to lock eyes with his father.

The Crown Prince had a cruel visage, one of callousness and cruelty that didn’t even diminish in his father’s eyes. What sort of man am I, if my own son and heir is such a wicked child? The boy’s expression was a mocking one, as though it were daring his father. What are you going to do about it? was the expression that Nathan seemed to be getting from his son. Another look towards his crying daughter in the back of the chamber, and then another back at Bebe.

I’ll show you what I’ll do, you little bastard, the Emperor thought. I’m going to show you what I can do. A quick sigh with closed eyes, Nathan prayed briefly before meeting eyes with Augustus Drake. May the Gods forgive me for what I’m about to do…

Purposefully, the Emperor rose from his seat, and stood tall and dignified. “If I were Executor before all of this began, Praetor, rest assured that nothing would have happened. Diplomacy would have carried the day. We can all pay lip service to it, but at the end of the day diplomacy is more effective with relationships and clout. I’ve cultivated both for thirty years, especially in Greater Dienstad, where the source of our external woes originates.”

Catching is breath, Nathan explained “this all began with Scandin slaving vessels operating in Dienstad. Gothic law doesn’t prohibit slavers from operating outside of Gholgoth. I’m not going to talk about what should or shouldn’t be, because we don’t live in the Land of Should. We live in the Land that Is, and in the Land that Is, there’s slavery in Gholgoth. As a Gothic Lord and as Executor, I respect the ability of all Gothic States to be as they choose, provided they respect and adhere to Gothic Law.”

“As for the Golden Throne,” Nathan added briskly, “they declared war on the Scandinvans and entered Gholgoth in order to wage war upon them. This wouldn’t have happened under my watch, firstly because I would have made it clear that there are to be no outside military incursions into Gholgoth. I would have compelled the nations of the region to uphold the Gothic Alliance in this regard, and I would have condemned any nation that violated this tenant by making common cause with outside invaders.”

Looking to Fenric, the Emperor bit his lip. “Having said that, the Gothic Alliance is by no means compelled to provide aid to the operations of a Gothic state beyond Gholgoth, so if Scandin slaving vessels conducting trade outside of Gholgoth are assaulted, and their slave trade contained, then I’d say tough shit. That’s the cost of doing business, so perhaps in the future you should choose more carefully where and how you conduct it.”

“The Golden Throne specifically was an aggrieved party that had some specific concerns addressing Gholgoth,” Nathan looked to Feodor as he spoke on the subject. “I would have listened to what he had to say and in the interest of peace, I would have tried to assuage those concerns with diplomacy, which I can assure you, I’m quite capable of.” Another look towards Fenric, and another proclamation. “What’s worse then providing military assistance to outside invaders is attacking another Gothic state. Were I Executor when Citadel City was bombed, you would have answered to me personally for that, Fenric."

Then there was a broad glance to the whole Gothic Chamber. “Do not mistake my deference for cowardice. Do not mistake my humility for weakness, and do not mistake my caution for a lack of confidence. I do not seek power for power’s sake. To me power is a means to an end, but what end? For me the end is peace, and if I must seek power to achieve that, then so be it. I shall endeavor with my mind, spirit and heart to become Executor, because I know that I can achieve peace and restore the prestige and prosperity of Gholgoth. In fact, I can promise you that.”

Nathan boldly proclaimed that “the most pressing matter before is the end of this war with the Triumvirate of Dienstad, that consists of the Golden Throne, Imbrinium and Stevid. There are Triumvirate military assets in Gholgoth as we speak, and I alone have the ability to bring their presence here to an end. I will engage in diplomacy with them and convince to leave, as well forge a lasting peace with them to end this war with the Scandins. Emperor Feodor is a man who will listen to me, and I am someone who he respects. We will talk, and it shall end.”

“And if it doesn’t,” Nathan looked at his peers with a hard expression on his face, “then I have the means by which to make things become very difficult for the Triumvirate. The King of Imbrinium’s wife is my grandfather’s cousin, a Princess of my own house. When they were wed, the King swore a sacred oath of friendship and protection to Ghant. I will not hesitate to call upon this oath if push came to shove, and I can make the Triumvirate falter with just a word. There is blood between myself and the King of Imbrinium, and blood is stronger than ink, and that’s not the sort of conflict that Dienstad wants to have.” Nathan made sure to nod his head towards Feodor as though to tell him gotta act tough, you understand.

“As Executor I would also see to the vitality of the Gothic Fortresses, the safe and fair conduct of the Praetors and the situation in Milograd with due diligence. I would endeavor to end non-consensual colonization and conquests within Gholgoth, and seek to restore Dengmu to Shen Amaru, if only because that’s a mess that should have never happened in the first place, and under my watch, wouldn’t happen again.”

Another exchange of glances with his lordly peers, and Nathan added that “talking about the next election is a moot point, because the election that matters is the one now. The qualifications and skills that are possess are uniquely suited to the situation that Gholgoth is faced with at the present time, and my confidence is a reflection of my experience dealing with the various personalities and nations in the equation.” The Emperor’s eyes looking back at Augustus Drake, Nathan inclined his head and finished his speech. “I hope that answers your question, and provides you with some insight as to what I will do if elected Executor. I hope you will consider voting for me, as with the rest of you.”

Having said his peace, Nathan took his seat and a drink of water with it. Looking over his shoulder for the first time since before he spoke, he could see Bebe slouched in his chair with his arms folded and a frown on his face. Aw, did I just make you look like a fool in front of your sister? Perhaps he did, because another look towards Valentina showed the girl with a shy smile on her face, even as her eyes and cheeks were still a bit wet. In the end, that was what mattered the most.

Posted: **Sat Jun 09, 2018 1:01 am**

Citadel City

As his subordinates made their unobtrusive exits from the summit chambers Dengmu had taken little notice. Such was the way of an Emperor that the mundane comings and goings of one’s servants during the presumed course of their duties taxed but little attention of the sovereign. It wasn’t for some minutes, therefore, until Dengmu received notice of an event whose ripples were passing through the room around him even now. Ambassador Lucius Salvias Otho had approached his Emperor and leaned in to pass a whispered message. He spoke quickly and with a note of concern, “A small nuclear warhead had detonated at the heart of an Imperial Navy fleet somewhere east of Mille Mortifere. The dreadnought Xiang Wu was the the likely target, the likely perpetrator: Shun Lao. The ship is lost.”

The detonation of the nuclear weapon itself was what most concerned the international audience, of course. The departure of the Aldarminian delegation, for one, now made more sense with this new context. For Dengmu however this was far from the case. The weapon was small, far smaller than what Shun Lao herself had used against the Imperial Navy in years past. The attack furthermore paled in comparison of it's scope to the dozens or hundreds of warheads exchanged over the heavily populated cities of Nunkid and Daram during the darkest days of the invasion. No, it was the symbolism of the strike that concerned Emperor Pudu Jilang Dengmu the most in this moment.

Ambassador Otho had leaned in close upon delivering his message to hear the sovereign’s reply. The reply came in the form of a question, “What of the Loshan?” Dengmu asked, finally.

The ship that had been destroyed was called the INS Pudu Xiang Wu; it’s namesake was a Pudite emperor who was Dengmu’s antecedent by more than two millennia. Xiang Wu was popularly remembered as ‘The Hammer of Corras’ and it was this martial reputation that led to his inspiring the name for a tremendously large battle ship thousands of years after his death. Another of the formerly three, now two, similar ships in the region was the INS Jilang Loshan, and the only one of the dreadfire-class vessels not named after a former Pudite emperor. Loshan had been the first son of Emperor Shangjun, Dengmu’s father, and had died of illness in his prime years. Shangjun had memorialized him with this warship.

Otho’s response came quickly, “The Jilang Loshan is in port in Fort Defiance, Havensky. Admiral Rolek has instituted extraordinary security measures as a precaution.” Dengmu nodded at the news before asking another question of his ambassador, “So why did she choose the Xiang Wu when she could have struck at my own brother?” Otho had expected this question as well and was prepared to share what he knew, “The story begins some months ago when the pirate captain Shun Lao met in person with highly placed Skyan and Aldarminian officials, and one Pudite.”

The question did not even have to be asked before Otho answered it, “Merelbart Stoyen was the Pudite official in question, the Ambassador to Aldarminia. That’s where the meeting was held. A message was received at that same embassy only minutes ago. It all makes it look like she chose the Xiang Wu for Stoyen’s benefit.” Dengmu shook his bald head slowly, causing Otho to give him some space. The Emperor then growled out his answer, coming across a bit louder than their previous whispers, “Recall Stoyen. Bring him to me.” Dengmu jabbed a finger into the table forcefully to punctuate his demand. Otho offered only the quickest affirmation before falling back to the staff assembled behind the two men. An aide left the room shortly afterward with a written message. Merelbart Stoyen would be in Citadel City before a day had passed.

The news had only driven home for Dengmu a thought that had been gestating in him for some time since the convening of this summit; there would be no help had here, in council chambers and consultation. Dengmu clenched his thick, meaty hands into formidable fists, his knuckles white. His lips were pulled into a tight scowl. He was frustrated. The sooner an Executor was chosen, whatever good that would do, and the sooner the Lords dispersed, the sooner Dengmu could get down to the business of solving his problems.

The Pudite Emperor loudly slapped both his hands flat on the table before him and leaned forward, pushing himself to his feet with a strong exhalation. The medals pinned to his chest rattled with the effort; the sword clipped to his belt rattled ominously. When he finally spoke it was slow and deliberate, “My fellow Lords,” he began simply, "In our history there are but few among our number who could truly have claimed to speak for Gholgoth, and even then, it was through respect and informal assent that the Lords made their choice. Today we seek to do a thing that has never been done. The person selected to be Executor will not only be the first to hold that office, but will shape what that office means for generations of Gothic Lords to come. Executors will come after this one. A new crisis will erupt, undoubtedly, and great leaders will rise to lead Gholgoth through those times, as they always have. Today we make a choice that will define the alliance forevermore."

“I could not say what has brought you all to this chamber today.” His eyes passed from Lord to Lord, “Curiosity?” he wondered aloud as they fell on Lorkhan, “Spite?” as he looked to Skaro, “or Pride?” as his gaze fell on Skragg. He looked over the rest as he continued, “Whatever it was that motivated you to come here and be a part of this, it does nothing for me. I have but one motivation. Lands which are the responsibility of the Hewn Throne in Hollarum, my seat, have come under domination by foreign powers. Pudite officials are exiled or arrested; the authority of the throne is denied. These are the problems for which I require resolution, and I can see but one of those now."

"Let me tell you why I have come here,” Dengmu paused then a moment and his face suddenly reflected a hardness that it often concealed, “I have come to take the measure of the man against whom I will wage this terrible war.” Dengmu turned to face the Scandinvan Crown Prince now, “You have no need to fear these reforms, Fenric, for it is not they that will ruin you. The grievances we two bear against one another will be settled on the battlefield, not in a room like this.”

Next, Dengmu looked to the Godsend Emperor Tristan Skragg, his demeanor still fierce but now encouraging rather than accusatory, “Honestly, Skragg, from all I’ve read of you I hadn’t expected to see you fight so hard to sit behind a desk. You wondered if we had any questions for you? Well I have one. Would you rather see this crisis through from afar, wielding a gavel, or would you rather see this through from the battle line? I know you have served as a soldier, and far more proficiently than I ever did. I would ask you to do what I understand you do uncommonly well. Take a side and fight. Leave the council meetings to someone who enjoys them.”

“As for me and my people, our course has been decided.” Dengmu moved his hand to the hilt of the sabre he wore at his hip; the sword gifted him only hours before by the Emperor Fedor of the Golden Throne. “If the assembled Lords would prefer to see the crisis before us as one unfolding between the Scandin Empire and that of the Golden Throne, then it is clear where I stand. The Executor we elect may bring any end they like to that war. I will have my own war, and it will end exactly as I decree. There are those of you who have pledged your assistance to me in this, and for that I am grateful." He looked in turn toward Augustus and Atticus before looking out over the rest of the room expectantly.

Ambassador Otho, who knew the story of the fall of Shen Almaru in its long form, looked knowingly at Emperor Nathan of Ghant and his family, hoping to catch a knowing eye, as if to say privately, thank you. The clandestine assistance of Ghantish embassy personnel in Shen Almaru involving the secreting out of messages from loyalist agents, many of whom were still in the islands, couldn't well be alluded to in this open setting.

Finally, Dengmu spoke again, now with a tone of finality, "I have nothing more to say." He hefted the heavy Lord's Coin in his hand and rapped it thrice against the stone table, “My vote will speak for me now,” he concluded. Dengmu sat back down, his face a mask of steely indifference.

Posted: **Sat Jun 09, 2018 6:06 am**

Major Gavin Squall: Heartknight Guardian, The Giant Slayer, Honorary Briskan Hell Knight, and The Heartbreak Count.

Squall had been standing at ease near the back wall of the Skyan section. He was wearing pearl white power armor that was customary for Legionaries assigned to the Diplomatic White Guard. There were a handful of red markings painted on the armor above his nameplate for every battle he’d taken part in. The first was the Skyan Military Academy, then Milograd, then Hab Centre 06, and the Reich itself. Of course, that last marking was drawn to be as vague as possible for obvious reasons. He had other markings on the armor as well. There were the four gold bars for his rank of lieutenant commander. Above the “Skyan Legion” mark were his qualification badges which included a master duelist badge, air assault badge, and expert infantryman badge. Above that was a Dephirian dragon badge depicting his honorary rank of Hell Knight. That particular award was Briskan in nature signaling his rank as a Templar. His right shoulder still bore the shield patch of the Queen’s Guard with a Heartbreak badge above it.

His shield had been updated since he had been retitled as the Heartbreak Count. It still contained a red slingshot with a broken heart as it’s stone against a sable background. It was designed to depict the biblical King David’s slaying of Goliath. Only now, that slingshot had been carved with multitudes of small red lightning bolts. Only Heartknights had custom shields and the fact that he had a dark black shield that contrasted so much with his white armor made him unmistakable.

Every bit of his appearance told the story of his military career and stating quite simply that he was an accomplished military man. As for how Squall felt about his role here, he felt completely useless at a diplomatic confab.

All Skyan officers hoping to advance to the rank of colonel had to receive advanced diplomatic training since it was entirely possible they might have to negotiate on behalf of the Skybound Republic at some level. Atticus had requested that his office conduct his training personally.

It had not gone smoothly. Squall had taken the lessons seriously but lacked the patience required for mediation. He was usually pretty blunt which could get a negotiator in trouble if they weren’t careful.

Squall wasn’t the best public speaker. He had trouble calibrating his vocal range. Atticus’ could make his words go from a warm lullaby to machine gun speed and not miss a beat. Atticus could sound like a freight train or the whisper of the trees. Squall has only two voices. His ‘command’ voice and the quiet subtle one that only close friends could hear.

He also had very little to do at present. All he could do was watch. He watched as Atticus carefully danced verbally around all the little diplomatic obstacles before him. He watched Atticus speak through his stress after the Slaver Emperor tried to goad him. He watched him fiddle with his pen as the first vote went down. He watched as the weight was lifted off his shoulders when it passed.

Squall tried to feel happy when the reforms passed, but the last several times the council had met it always resulted in the same thing. His squad in some foreign country with a weapon in his hands. He trusted Atticus to a point, but at the end of the day when things got rough, it was the Legion that would get the phone call.

As the vote ended and they went on break, he gazed at the Lords and their aides as they walked to and fro. Everyone here was either nervous, scheming, or … in the Chancellor’s case… crazy.

He watched the Briskan Chancellor pack his plate full of food which was...odd behavior to say at least. He was sweaty, unnerved, and acting, unlike any political leader he had ever seen. So, it came as no surprise when he was arrested by the Templars later that afternoon.

He may or may not have let slip to them some of the weird conversations that Citadel Security had overheard.

The speeches were mildly interesting to Squall, but the outcome was out of his control. He knew from the get-go that Atticus would never allow Skaro to become Executor if he could help it. That result would mean his immediate termination as Skyan Secretary of State and quite possibly riots in the streets.

Valentina’s words were inspiring, but Squall couldn’t help but breath a heavy sigh. Were they all like this? How old must have Atticus been when he started speech training? Were they all trained from when they were half-pints for this sort of thing? Did anyone normal ever stand a shot at leadership? He resisted the urge to shake his head. No, Atticus wasn’t born into this even if he had come from wealth. Squall’s family had a history of police service. Most of the men in his family had served, but none had come close to Squall’s rank. If he was honest, these days he seemed downright fancy compared to his family back home

What would his own daughter...daughters...be like he wondered? Edwidge and he had talked about it a bunch of times. Would their hair be platinum blonde like their mother’s or raven black like his? Would they get her charm? Would they be as kind? He hoped so. Gods, he hoped they just had normal lives.

It was then that he noticed Bebe’s little speech and it took quite a bit of willpower not to smack him then and there. Growing up, Squall always hated bullies and Bebe was much worse. He couldn’t imagine what his mother would have done if he had spoken to anyone that way much less his sister.

Lord help him if he ever had a son like that. He started to wonder how the Ironwing twins had turned out so...normal all things considered. He’d have to ask Ironwing when the time came. Hell, he still had to get married first. The war had put everything on hold and he felt guilty about it. Why wouldn’t the world just rest for a spell?

His thoughts were interrupted by radio chatter in his ear.

Heartbreak Count, Citadel Command

He hated that handle. His original Knighted Title was ‘Giant Slayer’ and that had already seemed like a very violent title. Ironwing had once told him that was the point of it. You wern't supposed to like it. It was supposed to keep you queasy about it all. Ironwing had expressed disdain for his own title of ‘The Butcher’s End’ and that he should just embrace it. That was before they had named him the Heartknight Count. Havensky had no such rank as Count. There was the elected monarchy, the Prime Minister, and then the Lords and Ladies who had been knighted for their service. No, Heartbreak Count had referred to the prodigious number of enemies killed by Heartbreak Company when he had been in command.

He despised the title, as he despised the fighting in the first place. The title was almost cruel. If he was every in charge of the Guardian Order he would put a stop to that sort of thing.

Command, this is Count. Go ahead[i/]

[i]We have a report that you need to see.

Squall walked back to the Skyan Lord’s office and into the secure room. There the nuclear explosion was shown to him on the screen.

‘Oh for the love of everything good and holy’ he thought to himself. Of course, of course, there was a damn nuke involved now.

A report already being typed up by an aide. Squall studied it and then walked back into the chamber. He passed the note to Atticus who read it and shown no reaction expect a nod as I’d say, ‘Oh, one more crazy thing that I need to worry about.”

In truth, there was nothing that Atticus could do at present. He was Secretary of State and not the PM or the Secretary of Arms. Assuredly as the sun would rise in the east, Command & Control would reach out to allies and bolster defenses like they always did after an attack. A message had already been drafted and sent on Squall’s behalf letting his counterpart know that they had their support and offering assistance. The ‘Neon Ships’ of the Humanitarian Fleet would get orders to ship out to the site and render medical treatment on special nuclear, biological and chemical warfare response vessels.

Squall returned to his position and stood at ease. He noticed other national leaders getting the news as well. There was a brief commotion as the Aldars were evacuated and then another speech by a half-pint. No, that wasn’t the right word. Half Lord? No... lordspawn? Yes, that was a good word for the lot. Lordspawn. Lordspawn giving the speeches instead of playing around being kids. When he was that age he was playing football.

The sound of Dengmu’s voice brought him back to the Summit. Now, this was a speech Squall liked. Let’s acknowledge why we’re really here. Squall had protested leaving the Unity wanting to continue to oversee the military drills in preparation for the liberation of Shen. One last push for peace, the High Council has insisted. One last try before things really got ugly.

Surprise, there’s been another nuke in the Big G again. And he considered that pretty ugly. He wanted to have the Lords vote and get on with what needed to be done.

In truth, Squall wasn’t sure who Atticus was going to drop the coin for. Has was sure that he would vote for the person who would provide the most stability. He imagined the Senate and the High Council would be pleased with any ally in the big chair including the Ghantish, Briskans, Pudites, Drakonians or the Caesar. So long as it wasn’t a slaver or Kraven. It was the reforms that Atticus wanted most and he had gotten them. The next thing Atticus would spend effort tackling was getting The Golden Throne and the Lords to come to some sort of agreement about their activities in the region and possibly even trying to end their war.

He wasn’t super religious, but even he had started to pray to his god and her goddess that the Lords would somehow stop the war.

Of course, experience had taught him that it would almost always be the soldiers who stopped it instead.

Posted: **Sat Jun 09, 2018 8:34 pm**

Tristan sat and listened carefully to the others. The coin's weight seemed to disappear as his enhancements kicked in. His cybernetic eye examined its chemical makeup and looked for any weakness in the metals.

"Dengmu," Tristan said with a tone just higher than a whisper, "You are right." He looked up to the man, "You have opened my eyes to how my hands will be tied being stuck behind a desk. It should come at no surprise that I will withdraw my name from the table, not that I had anyone actually considering me as a fit candidate," He gave a quick glare to certain leaders. "My will to bring justice to Gholgoth will not be so easily extinguished. As of now, I have several small fleets sailing towards key areas needing immediate assistance," He looks back to Dengmu, "In remembrance of our long friendship, you will have my saber. Give me time and you shall have a force that will blacken the skies of Gholgoth."

Tristan's eyes turned to Atticus, "Time and time again, my trust in you has chipped away. Ragnarok has informed me of your dealings. The behind the scenes talks of reforms. I thought it was clear that Havensky and Dephire were allies. I thought it was made clearer that part of our friendship was that we were informed of such world-changing negotiations. No matter how good these reforms are for the better of the alliance, what you did has destroyed all trust we had left. I will request you to step down from your position after this summit has concluded. However, that's not my call. This is..." Tristan took the coin in his hand and snapped it into three pieces. He then stood up and walked to chests and dropped one piece in three different chests... One for Nathan, one for Augustus, and one for Silvier. "These three are the best qualified for the position. These three will also keep me in check." He looked up to Atticus, "For I will need someone to hold me back from making an example."

Tristan returned to his chair, "Captain Skaro, I will need to speak with you in private."

Posted: **Sun Jun 10, 2018 7:40 pm**

It was difficult for Atticus to hear some of the criticism and downright hostility from some of the members of the Gothic Lords. It’s not that he intentionally lied about any of his dealings with the Kraven. Rather, he had just neglected to give the full story to his closest allies.

He had a damned good reason for doing so too. For starters, there was a good chance that nobody would have come to the summit if they thought it was a Kraven trap. Atticus had assumed, correctly, that once they had all gathered and the documents were in front of them the reforms would have enough momentum to pass on their own merits.

The second, more complicated reason, was that Operation Resurrection depending on secrecy. The fewer people that knew about the thousands of Jagites in Neo-Cydonia that were now in Skyan custody, the safer they were. Of course, ‘custody’ was a merely a technicality. In truth, the bulk of Havensky’s humanitarian fleet was being held hostage until the end of the conflict. If everything went according to plan, the fleet would return with thousands of Jagites once thought lost.

If things went wrong, the Skyans would lose them and possibly the Humanitarian Fleet.

So, he hadn’t talked about the deal with Kraven except for Jagada’s ambassador. And he wouldn’t talk about it. And neither would any other Skyan. Not one word. Even if it meant that his allies would be cross with him for a bit.

The good news had been that there had been quite a good debate on who should be Executor and Atticus was pleased with his choices. He hadn’t spoken in favor of anyone in particular as he was running the meeting. However, he was glad to see his favored candidate come forward.

Atticus had already spoken with the High Council before the meeting on who they should support. Almost all the candidates had support from at least one person on the High Council. In the end, it was Atticus who got the final say. He had stated that they should vote for somebody who wasn’t eager for the crown. That their vote should go to somebody who could mediate the conflict - one who wasn’t seen as too much on one side. Somebody with experience and that could hold the line between being diplomatic and being tough when they needed to be.

After the speeches had been winding down, Atticus stood up with the coin in his hand. He walked over to the front of the room towards the stand where the voting boxes had been set up.

Without a word, he placed his coin in the box with the Ghant emblazoned on top.

He sat back down content to watch the rest of the vote from the Skyan throne.

Posted: **Mon Jun 11, 2018 1:41 am**

"Who will you vote for?"

Augustus Drake looked up from the dossier he was reading on Caesar Silvier just in time to see his daughter sit down into the seat in front of him.

"What?" The Drakonian Royals were on their way to the Summit of Gholgothic Lords in Citadel City and in the distant rumble of jet engines and his own distant thoughts Augustus had not quite heard his daughters words.

"For Executor," Lilliana clarified.

Augustus considered her question for a second. Lilliana absently glanced out the aircraft’s window to the bright blue sky and clouds before looking back to her father.

"I’ve never voted for anything of such consequence," the Drakonian Praetor said finally.

Lilliana nodded, the biting her lip and looking down. "Neither have I," she said looking back to her father. "I have never voted in anything more than school elections."

"Nor I," Augustus confirmed his own experiences.

It was not considered proper that the Drakonian Royals participate in elections. They were proud to be servants of the people, and thus were careful not to interfere as little as possible in the various democratic processes in Drakonia and throughout the Imperium. Their charge was to rule and more importantly to protect.

Straightening up in his Augustus pondered the decision before him. Would he vote for himself? To the Drakonian’s mind that did not seem fitting or proper. Voting for oneself was almost always an act of selfish pride. A grave danger to any leader.

Yet, in order to make a wise decision he must select the candidate best suited to accomplish the task set before them. Would a confident and authoritative leader vote for themself? Would someone who knew they could carry out the responsibilities afforded to them? Could Augustus?

Surely there was a better candidate. Augustus looked to the stack of dossiers on his lap and the table in front of him and chair next to him.

"I think I must first look into the eyes of each Lord and listen to their words," Augustus finally said, looking to his daughter. "Only then will I know who to shall have my vote."

Augustus gave a nod of respect to the Ghantish Emperor. He received what he had asked for. He had the final piece to make his difficult decision.

"I have no doubt that before this crisis is over we will need your diplomacy," Augustus addressed Nathan, before looking also to Atticus. "And that too of others."

Augustus paused looking down and collecting his thoughts. Then with purpose he turned to Emperor Dengmu. "But, I believe now that the Time for Words has past and the Time for Swords has come. Until more blood is spilt, I do not think that words can again bring peace."

Looking now to the assembled Lords, Augustus stood. "If you will have me as your Executor, I shall follow strictly the mandate given by your votes and these reforms. I shall put forth the extraordinary effort necessary to bring a lasting peace in Gholgoth."

He looked briefly again to the Pudite Emperor. "As Executor, or as Lord, Drakonian blood shall help purchase that peace."

Then he turned to Prince Fenric. "There can be but one price for that peace: leave Shen Almaru. As Executor, I would give you that ultimatum. And I will show the same fervor in restoring those lands to the Pudite Crown as I would show defending Drana and Gholgoth from foreign incursion. When you are ready for peace, you need but ask."

He turned again to address the Lords. "In my speech before coming to this summit, I said I would see us again united in common goal. That is a terrible and world trembling purpose. We must end this dissension.

"Semper Certans*, Gholgoth."

With that said, Drakonian Monarch turned walked to the podium and cast his vote.

__________________
* Drakonian Latin, meaning "Ever" or "Always Striving".

Posted: **Mon Jun 11, 2018 2:33 am**

After Dengmu's words to the assembled Lords it seemed the council chamber had taken on a new character. Tristan Skragg had cast the first vote for Executor and now the room, and on it's back the world, waited to see what would become of Gholgoth. Dengmu energetically pounded a hand on the table before him as Tristan addressed him directly, loudly signaling his favor for what the Dephirian had to say. Lance Atticus, it had to be said, had taken a more decorous route and Dengmu had in turn calmed again by the time the Skyan had cast the vote of his people and returned to his seat. When Augustus rose to speak next, however, the Drakonian's words quickly stirred up in Dengmu that same visceral excitement.

Whatever happened here this day, Dengmu knew, he already had powerful allies in this room. Many were even now heavily invested in the operation to liberate the Shen Almaru archipelago. Blood of Skyans had already been spilt by the Scandin threat, and the islands of Mille Mortifere were already host to millions of Pudite soldiers even as they mobilized their own forces alongside them. Aid had come from many quarters, some unexpected, some pleaded for, and all of it was welcomed. More was yet to come, Dengmu knew, and he was grateful.

Dengmu had for his whole life been a statesman. His first instinct had always been to negotiate. He had sat in the Shizheng national legislature for decades and been a leader in a half a hundred votes whose arguments were any bit as contentious as any exchange in this chamber had been, but this time he felt differently. A sense of martial pride swelled in him. He had said as much himself and now the Drakonian Praetor had said it again: the time for talking was past.

As Augustus was returning to his seat Dengmu suddenly took the initiative again. He slammed a fist down on the table, a single heavy blow, and called out after it in fervent tones, "Yes!" Again the elaborate costume of the big man swayed and rattled as he hauled himself bodily to his feet. He spoke loudly and with great earnestness, "Tristan of Dephire," Dengmu gripped his sword hilt in one hand and drew the other to a fist and pounded it to his breast, "I am proud to call you my brother in this battle!"

Dengmu then took up the Lords Coin in his hand, "And to Augustus of Drakonia," his speech slowed as the weight of the moment bore down on each syllable, "I would be proud to call you my Executor." The Pudite Emperor then strode confidently to the podium and dropped the coin into the Drakonian box.

Posted: **Mon Jun 11, 2018 7:30 pm**

Gothic Council Chamber
Co-written with Ghant and Kylarnatia

With the attentiveness of a shepherd, Ryslander watched and listened as the Gothic Lords continued the war of words where they vied for the wills of Gholgoth to name either themselves or their preferred, fellow Lord to become Executor. The Aldarminian Prynz was captivated, enthralled even, as it dawned upon him that not long before he had spoken presumptively to these power-incarnates as an equal. With Skragg setting the precedent, the vote had begun, and Ryslander was weighing his options with all the mental gymnastics he could. A fierce fire was finding oxygen with which to breathe in his souls he observed the proceedings of those who casted their votes. He wished to do the same, but one of the speeches, before even the first coin had been cast into the bowl, had struck a surprising but fragile chord within him. Ryslander turned in his seat to the Emperor Nathan of Ghant, but even before the Prynz could do so, the Hæres of Kylarnatia rose from his seat to speak.

“Lords and Ladies of Gholgoth, if I may,” the young Julianus spoke, the clink of his armour and rattling of his saber causing some noise. “Having been inspired by not only my Aldarminian cousin but also a particularly brave princess…” he gestured politely towards Valentina, with a very sincere smile, “I’d like to take this opportunity to also share a few words, and perhaps prove that I have been paying attention to my tutors and put what they’ve taught me into practice.”

“Let it be stated on the records of this great day that I speak for myself, as not just the son of my Caesar and heir to her throne but also as a son of Gholgoth. I’m sure you’d all agree that those of us here today who are still to come of age are this region’s future, so it’s important for us to bare witness to what is going on here but also prove our metal. If the young Valentina can do it, then so can I.” He proclaimed triumphantly, placing the plumed helmet he carried under his shoulder down on the table. He then placed his right hand on the hilt of his sword to keep it steady while holding his left to his chest, making slight gestures and movements as he spoke, though not too much as to cause a distraction.

“Now it’s not my place - at least, not right now - to tell you all how I think you should vote. Most of you have already made up your minds, and I’m sure you’ve done so with the best intentions, and of course if I had a vote, it could only go to one person…” He smiled warmly to his mother, whose eyes glistened and nodded politely, prompting him to continue. “But allow me and my curiosity to explore deeper into the issues being discussed here. I hope that as I learn things, it can help provide clarity for the remaining of you to decide how to vote.”

“Emperor Nathan--Your Majesty--if you’ll indulge me for a moment.” He turned his attention to the Ghantish delegation, occasionally sharing a brief glance with Princess Sara. “I, like many here today, was very impressed and inspired by the speech you gave here today. By all accounts you are a strong candidate and, contrary to what my mother and others initially said, very deserving of consideration for the role of Executor. I know even she would agree. Still…” he paused for a moment, allowing his previous statement to sink in around the room. “Let me play devil’s advocate and pose two questions to you, because some of what you said did cause me to ponder in the back of my mind.”

Picking up one of the touchpads which was placed before his mother, the young Hæres continued. “Before me right now I have the reforms, as they were just adopted by this council. To you, your Majesty, I ask: Firstly, you promised to see to the vitality of the Gothic fortresses, and endeavour to end non-consensual colonization and conquests within Gholgoth. Sensible ideas, but nothing I’ve read within the reforms adopted by this Council says to me that you would have the power to influence those matters more than any other Lord: Indeed, the Fortresses serve as facilities for the Praetors and in that sense you have remit, but otherwise the responsibility of the fortresses falls on us all, especially those of us who are housing them. Furthermore, your mandate and term as Executor--should you be elected--is defined by the crisis for which you are elected. Forgive me, but I don’t see how you or anyone else could bring an end to these issues in the next ten years, let alone one. Therefore, how did you envision yourself fulfilling these promises? At the moment, I cannot help but treat them as empty ones, albeit well-intentioned.”

Taking a moment's pause, he then continued. “Second: you’ve informed us that your ties to the Triumvirate give you potential leverage in helping bring a diplomatic solution to this impending conflict between the Golden Throne and the Scandinvans. Again however, reading from the reforms as they were adopted, the Executor is responsible for chairing these meetings and executing the will of the Council, staying as a neutral authority. While you’re not directly involved, could this not serve as a conflict of interest, say if the Council votes to take non-diplomatic means?”

Both questions were neatly transcribed by an aide and passed along to the Ghantish camp, so that Nathan could refer back to them when answering. “I mean you no hostility or ill will, your Majesty, but I do believe these are questions which deserve to be answered before the vote is final. It’s my belief that if these reforms are to be taken seriously, they should be observed as they have been adopted. If we already start to bend the rules, then there was no point in making them in the first place.” As he returned to his seat, the Caesar took his hand and squeezed it gently, sharing a glance that simply read “You’ve made me proud.”

The Emperor of Ghant coughed into his hand, and then he proceeded to rub his chin thoughtfully. “Very good questions, your Majesty, thank you. It’s apparent that you have your mother’s mind...with a razor’s edge. I will try to answer your questions to the best of my ability. Now, as Executor, it is my understanding that the office is a sort of trust, if you will, of the Gothic Alliance and it’s associated apparatus, of which the Fortresses would be. Now, while you were gone, some in this chamber have made it clear that they will view these Fortresses with suspicion and mistrust. Some have even gone further to say that they will not recognize the authority of the Praetors. That is why it is essential to have an Executor who makes it clear, from day one, that these are tools of the Gothic Alliance, for the good of Gholgoth. While I cannot promise anything that is beyond my control, I can promise what is in my control, and that would be making it official policy that these things are to be shown the proper care and courtesy due unto them.”

Nathan scratched his scalp and searched for the words he wanted to summon forth to answer the prince’s follow-up question. “As to your second inquiry, it reminds me of something my grandmother used to tell me. Hope for the best, prepare for the worst. When I spoke of what capabilities I possess in relation to the conflict with the Triumvirate, I was merely referring to options that I have at my disposal...which are at the disposal of the Gothic Council. Naturally I would defer to the judgment of this esteemed body on regional decisions such as how to proceed with the Triumvirate. If the Council in its wisdom decides to pursue diplomacy, then I shall be able to execute that. If the Council decides to pursue war, then I have means that others in this chamber do not possess that would give us a greater chance to succeed.”

A drink of water, and Nathan finished his answer by explaining that “so there wouldn’t be a conflict of interest, because I would be beholden to the will of the council, as a neutral party that is capable of arbitrating intra-regional disputes between member states of the Gothic Alliance. As my daughter said, I am no Gothic Lord’s enemy,” he ended with a smile. “I hope that answers your question, your Highness...please feel free to ask anything else, or seek clarification.”

Julianus had sat and listened intently to the Ghantish Emperor’s words. While not completely convinced by his answers, he could not deny they were suitable and very tactile ones, and he did not seek to prolong this discussion longer than it needed to be. He felt that his questions had served their purpose, and it’d be up for the remaining Gothic Lords to decide whether they were satisfied by his answers. “That will be all for now, your Majesty. Thank you for giving me your time, and best of luck in your candidacy.”

The fire within Ryslander’s heart roared at Julianus’s deft display of diplomatic acumen. Envious though the Prynz was of level of skill, he was only more-so-invigorated and encouraged to speak now, lest he never find his peace. A magnanimous grin was allowed by his internal filter for this was certainly a time to be inspired and joyous in spite of the crises abundant. Rising with a nod to his young comrade, the Hæres, Ryslander then turned once more to the Ghantish Emperor. Careful-if-not-forward in his words and actions, the Aldarminian mimicked to some degree his fellow youth, “Lords of Gholgoth, if I may?”

A terse but courteous pause was extended unto them before he continued to address Nathan directly, “Your Majesty,”--a quick glance shot towards Bebe as if to say You must earn such a recognition of respect from me, as your father has...--“I wish to explore further what our Kylarnatian comrade has inquired you about. Particularly, I wish to add the following questions that have run their natural course in my mind and now must be answered.”

Ryslander elaborated after giving the Ghantar a potentially discomforting stare with his Alnardic amethysts of eyes, “What is stopping your friendly acquaintances in the Triumvirate from placing the same pressures on you, and thus compromising your position as Gothic Lord?"

The Aldarminian Prince took things a step further, literally-so, but by the time he had halved the distance between himself and Nathan, what smile had been on his face was replaced by a solemn visage. “How can we trust you not to conspire against the Alliance's interests? I do not wish to imply that you have lost confidence among us. In fact, I wish to confirm that such is not the case, mutually-speaking, at all. However…”

The Prince’s glances and gestures now danced carefully upon the eggshells of the likes of Skaro and Fenric as well as the door leading out from from the Council Chamber to where the Macabeean Emperor possibly lurked. “...There are those among us who would happily see Gholgoth turned to ash if they could be certain its fleets and armies never sailed and marched upon their neighbors' or allies' seas and shores again. If you would speak to the Triumvirate on behalf of the Gothic Lords, I demand--No. I challenge you to do so among your fellow Lords.”

Considering those inquiries thoughtfully, Nathan wiggled his lips and took another drink of his water. “What pressure could the Triumvirate place upon me? They have no leverage, no means by which they can put the squeeze on me. My people are like trees, our roots are strong and grow deep, entangling ourselves within the very earth itself. My position as Gothic Lord is one that I take very seriously, and always have. No man could ever doubt where my loyalties ultimately lie.”

To the second question, Nathan stated firmly that “the interest of Gholgoth is unity and peace. Those are two things that I’ve worked towards for the past thirty years. I swore an oath to this alliance, and any man that knows me knows that in all my life I’ve never broken an oath that I’ve personally swore...”

“...Except the oath you swore to my mother,” the Crown Prince of Ghant boldly proclaimed, standing up.

Like a provoked viper, the Emperor glared at his eldest son and heir over his shoulder, before sighing. Another look was cast upon Valentina, who looked embarrassed, for it was her mother with whom that marital vow was forever broken.

Ryslander retorted with a nigh-violent twist of his head and body to face the younger Nathan. Contrasting to the bodily motion, the Prynz spoke calmly if not condescendingly, “Young Prince, my Peer, Comrade of the Gothic Youth,” sneering and patronizing, “Your Majesty, as of right now, you are not, by any means a Lord of Gholgoth or a representative of such. You are an attendant. An attache. Unless you have something to contribute to this discussion, something of substance that is, I ask you kindly to stay silent while your father and Lord of Gholgoth is speaking. Matters of the family, whatever they may be, oaths or not, are not to be discussed here. However, what’s been said has been said, and you yourself have brought needless shame to your father. By implication of your statement and the nature of this Chamber, His Majesty Nathan of Ghant must now, for the record, defend himself yet again for what I presume to be a matter of the bed, not of the blade or the pen.”

He cheated on your mother. Do get over it, boy. We must be stronger and wiser than this, Ryslander thought before he turned to face the Ghantish Emperor again and almost-begged, “Please, continue, Your Majesty.” Bebe looked as though he wanted to speak in rage, his face turning red, yet he stayed his tongue, and folded his arms once more as he shrunk down into his seat.

“It is true, I betrayed my wife, my Empress,” Nathan said. “And I’ve lived with that shame for the past fourteen years. Aye, I know how that affected her, my children, my country...and me. I cannot bear such a pain again. I would die before I ever broke an oath that I ever so solemnly swore.”

Looking somberly upon the floor, Nathan searched for what he’d say about the Triumvirate, and Feodor. He half glanced Ryslander once he figured out what he wanted to say. “I understand that the Golden Emperor Feodor himself will attend us following the conclusion of this vote. Here’s what I will tell you, Ryslander of Aldarminia. If I am elected Executor of Gholgoth, then I will confront him when he enters this chamber to face us. I will ask him, ‘will you treat with me as leaders of our respective factions, and make a good faith effort to end this war and seek out a mutually satisfactory peace, right here and now? And if asked, would you have all Triumvirate military assets depart from Gholgoth, should such an arrangement be reached? I think if it is me that Feodor faces, both questions shall receive a satisfactory response.”

“All I know is that my desire is to unify Gholgoth and settle the issues that divide us, and bring peace so we can heal. That is what is in my heart.” Nathan cast a glance at Augustus Drake, and added that “others have spoken of war, of ultimatums and threats. Those are all things that would further weaken and divide Gholgoth, and embolden our enemies. That's a fact.”

“I have nothing but heart and respect for your wishes for a peaceful and bloodless resolution, your Majesty, and if it can be achieved so it should be done.” Julianus chimed back in. “But I believe the fires of war which the Praetor speaks of were kindled long before this meeting ever took place. The lines have been drawn in the sands of Shen Almaru, and they cannot be erased. This will be the burden of whomever becomes Executor: controlling the damage and preventing further escalation. Regardless of who is chosen, your Majesty, you will have my support and I share your dream for the future, but I’m sure you know that the nature of Gholgoth cannot be changed, only tamed. Alea iacta est. That’s a fact.”

Bebe frowned as he looked past his brothers towards his twin sister Sara, who, sitting properly in her exquisite dress, flashed a pearly white smile flanked by blushing cheeks at Julianus. The Crown Prince couldn’t help but sigh heavily and shake his head.

After ruminating on the Emperor’s and the Hæres’s words, Ryslander stood once more, but not to speak. He made his way to the bowls, and gave the Gothic Lords and their numerous companions in the Council Chambers one last scanning stare, purple eyes looking for a soul pierce if they could perceive any at all. Somewhere, the Prynz found one: Olav Doshsvyn. Unlike the rest of the Gothic Lords and their families, Ryslander had but one person here on which to rely with the utmost confidence of countrymen. No kin of his remained in the Chamber. They were, as far as the Zygostratium was concerned, safe somewhere far away. Ryslander wanted to keep it that way, but with the adjustment that Gholgoth could become the haven for the Imperial Blood House Aszcheyko that the region deserved to be.

Surreptitiously, a flip of fates occurred. Turning over his hand, the decision became clear. The coin dropped, and with a silent salute--a firm fist curled upon his heart--and a bow to his Gothic Lords, Ryslander, first of his name, sat down.

Emperor Nathan turned and waved to his daughter Valentina, gesturing for her to come forward. The young red-haired princess made her way to her father, and came to a stop beside his great seat. “I cannot in good conscious cast this coin while I stand as a candidate in this election,” Nathan informed his daughter. “You have spoken well today, and represented yourself, our nation, our house...and me, with honor,” he smiled. “Therefore, I leave this coin to you.” Carefully, Nathan plucked the coin from the table and placed it in Valentina’s hands. “And to you, my daughter, I leave the vote.”

Valentina bowed her head, and let a dignified, purposeful expression spread across her face. “Thank you, father. I will bear this responsibility with honor.” Having said that, Valentina nodded and went off in the direction of the voting receptacles with her father’s coin in hand. Approaching the specified area carefully, she looked for the Ghantish seal, and upon finding it, placed the coin into that box. As she returned to her seat, she couldn’t help but notice the cold, malicious stare Bebe was giving her, as though he were shooting daggers out of his eyes at her. Yet when she returned to her seat, she smirked stealthily.

NationStates

Never the twain shall meet [Complete]

Camp Resurrection / The Vote

Tacos and Time

Tristan Skragg, Emperor of Dephire

The Two Sides of the Coin

Inquiry

"Time for Words has Past and the Time for Swords has Come"