The Mystria Prosperity Convention [Closed|ATTN Mystrians]

A staging-point for declarations of war and other major diplomatic events. [In character]
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Crystal Spires
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Founded: Aug 23, 2011
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The Mystria Prosperity Convention [Closed|ATTN Mystrians]

Postby Crystal Spires » Fri Mar 08, 2019 6:05 pm

Alright once this gets started I don’t want any fighting in the thread. This is a peaceful meeting, ok? Cool.


The following post was co-written with the Great Civilization of The Ctan

The High Council Solar
Caltris, Luminasian Chancellery, Crystal Spires
The Morning Star Fades, Hour of the Hunter

The Morning Star was beginning its descent as its golden rays began to bathe the land in reddish hues, and the sky appeared like an opaline glowing painting. The air was warm and humid, and the season was changing to the rice planting months. The East wind blew in a rarely safe but always beautiful aether aurora. Lift-boarders raced upon the clouds that had more than its usual transparent particles. The sky surfers took advantage of these rolling waves to show off their prowess. One rogue wave launched a sky surfer to the no-lift zone, and skidded between buildings and shallowly sank toward a marble dome, and hit an invisible barrier. The barrier blocked the lifter from going beyond the barrier and slowed their descent as they landed safely but agonizingly slowly on the ground. It merely annoyed him, as it meant he would have to go back to the skylaunch, and go to the end of the line.

The building, however was fairly safe from the sky surfers, while also keeping them safe. A product of a Grand Collegium and the High Council tackling a problem together. The Spirean people were very easy to please, as long as working together was considered the first policy. The High Council perhaps embodied this spirit of cooperation. With twenty Chancelleries that made up a diverse set of regions with different priorities and astonishingly diverse people, the Crystal Spirean High Council had to find a way to work with these people and essentially unite them under the banner of Mythorianism and Forntian Idealism. Then it became about the Glorious Republic of Freedom and Respect of Sapient Rights, but to the Spireans this was just the beginning of their harmonious work to bring peace and prosperity to the land. Their jobs were far from finished, and in truth it was only beginning. Their faithful and tremendously powerful allies of the Great Civilization had managed to extend a hand along with the Malgraveans and Kouralians during a time when it appeared that the Spirean State would cease to exist. Genocide, Enslavement, and degeneration of the principles that the Spires followed meant that the importance of allies and working together became ever more important.

Calisté Chenarn, a Submerged-Land born native of southern Crystal Spires, knew more than anything that in order for her contributions to differ distinctly from the Skyborn Knight Templar War Veteran, she would have to work harder than any other High Chancellor in order to not end up like the Glorious First Chancellor Selanie Heartwood. She was not going to be yet another Tideborn Martyr or a High Chancellor that was too weak to make hard choices. She wanted the Spirean people to bring forth the Mystrians that she believed were trustworthy, to create an alliance of mutual prosperity, something that could stand as her legacy. The question was whom would she call forth for this mission? There were few among the foreign lands that could be trusted, but the first she called upon was not even from the lands of Mystria. It was the C’tani, those who she knew would hold no bias, nor racial prejudice she did or didn’t know that she had. Calisté was no fool. She knew her biases would still remain strong, so she always looked for a second opinion among those she knew she could trust. Telissat Amris would be the one she would call, but she believed it would not be him who arrives, but rather an envoy, an emissary. The question was whether Lygngarma would be the one to arrive and answer the call.

Telissat Amris was the ostensible leader - in truth there was always a more complicated answer to any such question than might be imagined - of the Great Civilization and its head of state, responsible for setting many elements of its foreign policy entrusted to him by the senate; but he was not a conventional politician. A warship AI by origin, which was to say an artificed being, he was not limited to being in one place at a time, instead his presence when required was provided by cybernetically produced avatars, living flesh and tissue grown over the form of a machine, crafted over the form of a humanoid skeleton. Some were more capable, some less, but this was a structure that had worked, but it was also something that allowed him to operate many of these drones simultaneously, in different places.

It was perhaps impossible for an unaugmented beastling, in the local terms, including any humans, or species similar - to achieve the office of leader of the Great Civilization for long. People such as Telissat were famously described as ‘close to gods, and on the far side’ and while the post was elected, it was difficult to compete against a candidate who needed neither sleep nor rest, and could be in a myriad of places at once.

In this of course, it had been inevitable that when directly invited by the leader of an allied state, Telissat would appear, while many of his forms domestically went without escort, within Crystal Spires he travelled with an escort, necrons, gilded and ornamented with the trinkets of a myriad of culture and clad in shimmering green over their skeletal forms, carrying long bladed staves of office inscribed with the ritual script of the C’tani civic codes.

With him there were also a group of Spirean recruits from the expansive second-line forces of the Great Civilization; the C’tani were deeply militant, given their history, and though their technology obviated the need for military forces composed of beastlings in most situations, the social importance of such groups made it such that they recruited forces from anywhere they went, with the few exceptions being those territories whose populations were overwhelmingly philosophically pacifistic.

There were a hundred gifts he could bring when visiting Calisté, of course, but the one he had chosen was something a useful example, a map made of red ink that moved of its own accord as bidden, a replica that changed hue and texture to look on Mystria with the eyes of far-roving satellites and other observation drones.

The device was small enough to sit in a box he carried under one arm, black metal with folding leaves for its lid, and one he carried as he bowed slightly upon entering the side chamber of the council.

Calisté at first refused the gift before offering a handmade painting painted by a Forntian Monk in the Highlands that depicted the Necrons defeating a Rukh in flight. It was made with both oil paints and had small touches of Aether that made the painting move as the scene depicted the final blow upon the enormous flying monster as the stunned creature was then restrained. The Necron then walked among other C’tani humans in a proud walk towards the viewer, before the image again reset. The Monk had taken great care in his painting, and it was almost as if it was a memory brought into being painted by the hand of the mind. The Monks of the Highlands were of course very distinguished not only in their physical training, but also their mental training.

Telissat smiled, taking the painting with an appreciative eye, “The Ohmian Rukh,” he said, “I think I recall that one,” he said, “I have heard that it was quite difficult to capture,” he said. The creature had been released since, on the Oen-Thumaris orbital,” he said, of a megastructure that had been built as a wildlife preserve that replicated environmental conditions and biomes of two dozen standard beastling-planets. The C’tani were not unwilling to kill the creatures of the Spires, if they had the need, but they were sensitive enough to ecology to know that wholescale destruction would likely be a mistake in the long run, and when possible their hunting parties used tesseract labyrinths, the same technology that had imprisoned the C’tan, to capture subdued creatures; these were devices that folded space and time and produced an internal space that could hold even large creatures, suspended outside the influence of linear time, small enough to fit in the palm of one’s hand, capable of housing a greater daemon, a C’tan shard, or in this case, a vast Rukh.

“It was something the Ohmian Monks never forgot. They always appreciate the quick thinking on the C’tani’s part, and that painting doesn’t even capture how grateful they were when you took the grues out of the tunnels in the Mephistean Highway. They are very proud of having you as allies. The whole or the Spires are. It’s why I wanted to have this discussion with you. It is of great importance, and the Spires is in your debt for coming as you had. We wish to discuss with you about… well, first join me. What kind of tea would you like? We have all kinds, and of course I will have my favorite, a sweet Rosehips and Cherry Rooibos tea, can I offer you one of Spires’s hospitality, Ser Telissat?” The Mermaid was curvaceous, her wide rounded hips met with a wider than average waist and a full bust giving her a cello body shape. Unique of course was her tail, which was clearly one of a cetacean. Her face was lovely, with large eyes veiled with long lashes a long narrow nose and full lips pulled into a warm smile. her long hair was loose, and wavy like breaking waves at the shore. Her locks were the color of the Talabrath sea, with smooth rippling touches of peach like the Spirean sand and pink as the sky at sunset. Her eyes were a deep blue with a touch of haze from a late evening fog. Her skin was warm toned with a sea buckthorn hue to it with golden undertones. Her voice was purring like soft smoke that warmed one’s heart as those tones kissed the ear with each word.

“Something light,” Telissat said, “green tea, such as the Sardockian Mist of Bael,” he said, he consciously named a Spirean tea, simply as a courtesy, and of course he had picked something he enjoyed, his sense of taste was not built into him in the way that it was for humans, but a learning process of its own that gave a feedback within humanoid norms, still, it was a common export to the Great Civilization’s ever-hungering luxury market, and one that he had chosen for that reason as well as genuine enjoyment. Everything was considered, everything was weighed with Telissat.

Calisté poured a beautifully smooth tea into a clear cup and placed a small ball of what appeared to be tea, but it took only a few minutes for the tea leaves to open, revealing blossoming flowers and it gave the tea a light fragrance of flowers and a soft hint of sweetness. The taste would roll gently on the tongue and it had a cooling effect, and had a resounding aftertaste of herbiness. A hint of the freshness often from the teas of Sardoc’s terraced farms. Telissat had many different options for sweetening, but the tea’s flower nectar already gave it a soft sweetness that was only emphasized by sweeteners. Honeys, cane syrup, sugar, honeysuckle nectar, and agave nectar. The tea of course was a common hospitality offered to guests to ensure that regardless of who it was once the tea and cakes were presented, guest’s right was guaranteed. He was presented with a soft tea cake which was delicate and had candied flowers upon it, and a single spoonful would reveal a compote of fresh fruits from the spires between a smooth cheesecake layer with a warm mild yellowcake bottom. The frosted outside was light and fluffy, more reminiscent of a meringue than buttercream. Calisté was of course welcome to accept the gift that the C’tani had previously offered, and she took a crystal notebook and began to offer it to the C’tani to observe and take in the details that the Spireans had gathered upon the other Mystrian States.

Each one of them were as unusual as the other. Marked off with an absolutely unfavorable were ‘The Flower Council of Sylandral and the High Treefolk, The Imperial Altean Monarchy, The Silvan Enlightened Monarchy of Ealdurim, and The Absolute Royal Federation of Imeriata, but the others that seemed to be on the possible candidates were most of the other Mystrian states, including Terradinites, Dystians, Malgraveans, Rohanians, Silverdaleans, Kouralians, and Cantalvians and Carcenoans. There were a few others that were marked as Unknowns, including Thalassium, Rinyatar, and Ranstreimos.

“These are a few that we have presented as observations, but we are unsure if the Carcenoans are likely to be friendly to the Spireans so we are considering placing them as unfavorable candidates, and we wish to know if we must move Alteans and Imerins as completely unfavorable. As for the High Treefolk, we also know very little about the Satrapy, and wish to ask of the C’tani what their opinions are on whether we should extend our convention invitation to these unknown entities, and if we should invite nations we know to be hostile to Pan-Mystrian interests.”

Telissat took the fruits and ate them, reading with interest the documents as they were passed to him, and he gave a slightly arched eyebrow, “The Satrapy is a C’tani territory, and does not officially pursue an independent foreign policy,” he said, “of the Alteans there is little to worry at present,” he said, “we still have our eye upon granting autonomy to the various regions, but their relations with the Great Civilization will remain supervised for the near future,” he paused, “the Imerians on the other hand, we understand, even if we don’t agree with, Madame Chancellor. They should certainly be invited, for bringing them into any enterprise will give a diversity of opinion but will also help them heal the scars of slavery within their own society and within the pride of their nationalistic cultural ego,” he gave a small smile, “beyond which, they mean well, at least Primus does, and without any disturbance, so will Björn auf Stjärnkhrone,” he said, “for in that at least Princess Luna’s design succeeded,” he said, “we are ourselves seeking closer relations with the Imerians.”

“We will invite them then, we must know of what the C’tan believes we should do with the Treefolk? Extend an invitation or deny them a seat? Ealdurim as well? Whom should we deny an invitation according to Ser Telissat’s estimation.”

“The Treefolken Council is an instrument of Allanea,” he said, “but I would extend them an invitation anyway, Allanea is, despite the fact that we have prepared weapons for them, not our enemy, a strategic rival only, and if the Treefolken wish to abide by the terms of membership and seek closer unity with their neighbours all the better,” he said, “they should have no veto over any actions of the group,” he said.

“Ealdurim are our enemies,” he said, “at least, they are slave-holders, but still, inviting their participation would ensure that they can be held in violation of our agreement if they sign, and provide an open motivation to correct their behaviour,” he said, “their sundry crimes should not directly exclude them. Besides which, I would like to see their ruling prince have to meet Lygngarma.”

“I see, so we should invite the Ealdurimites as well. And what of the other formerly isolated nations that have arisen from the shift?” The Mermaid asked with a concerned glance. “We know very little about them. As for the ones we know about but are cautious to invite, we must also wonder about the Cornerians. They are the former Empire that used to own the Dystians whom we determine would be friendly to our proposals.”

“I have no particular information on this,” he said, “we have a positive opinion of Dyste, but no particular settled opinion of their former overlords,” he said, “it is entirely within your gift to determine who to invite, but on this matter I cannot give any special insights beyond what you have there.”

“Perhaps the best way to handle it is an open invitation but allowing them only to sign to agree. Signatories will gain the privileges of a secondary offer presented at the Prosperity Council. Only if they agree with the presented options will they receive the privileges offered as benefits to members of the treaty.” Calisté said out loud to herself. My worry is for example if we invite them they will only agree to the benefits, but none of the responsibilities.” The mermaid pointed out as a potential problem.

“It’s very likely that’s what they’ll want to do,” Telissat said, “but that doesn’t mean we have to let them, the first thing in a convention is that we have to accept that we won’t be able to wholly control the process, even if you are chairing it, you can invite, but there’s nothing stopping them going and taking a guild-hall oath,” a reference to a famous episode in C’tani history, where a part of the Seroi parliament had walked out of a convention of parliament and sworn their own assembly into office across the street.

“I see. We can try our best to ensure that there is no difficulties in the Convention itself, IF we have a safe place where we can hold the talks. The question is, are the C’tani willing to hold services for the Spirean Security so that talks can be held in peace?” The Mermaid asked, with a worried glance. “You are one of the Great Nations we can trust with confidence.”

“We are,” he said, “well equipped to do that. Both the Nightspire and Isasrach are wholly C’tani ground, and with the resources to host such an event, or if you would rather host it in Crystal Spires, which is probably preferable, we can certainly provide security forces to augment your own, but in truth I do not think there will be many who would try to violently disrupt a conference held solely within Mystria,” he said, “believe it or not, Mystria is comparatively peaceful.”

“The reason for holding it in Mystria is because it is much more likely that the more hostile nations will believe they have the advantage and will come in peace and accept the invitation. If they see it as particularly a C’tani affair they will be cowed by C’tani power, and Luna is practically a Goddess in many people’s eyes. Isasrach is much like holding it in C’tan itself, and if there is a hostile person it is also a hospital, that might hurt the patients seeking refuge and healing. If we hold it anywhere else, it will also seem to validate unworthy fears that Crystal Spires is not itself a nation of its own accord. We are best if we decide to go with a specific place, and of this we ask that the C’tani also choose the City best to handle the Meeting. Will we meet in Eirvin, a Great city in the Submerged Lands? Will we meet in Caltris, The Capital of the Spires? Mephiste, the Origin of the Mythorian Northern Riders, or Merlon, the Cultural Center, or perhaps… maybe Glorelheim, the most humble of the choices, but one that could have much more revenue and attention that is deeply needed?”

“Wherever we go,” Telissat said, “if we sign a treaty there, many will call it by the name of the place of its signing, therefore I would suggest Glorelheim as well,” he said, “that way we may end up with the Treaty of Glory,” he said, with a small smile. “But,” he said, “more seriously, I think we would be well suited with the investment,” he gave a pause, “without tact, we would be facing an additional challenge with Eirvin,” he said, “many governments would be inclined to send a lesser representative simply because they lack the means to safely travel to Eirvin under their own power, as curious as they may be.”

“That is true, which is why I mentioned Glorelheim as well and all the other potential locations. I think it is the best choice as well, but I wanted to know how defensible you are willing to make it. Glorelheim is one of the smaller places among the cities we proposed. No doubt it will be a bit of a challenge, but we have known no time when C’tani have backed down from a challenge.” She smiled gently with a nod at one of the soldiers she had recognized, a former Expat who became a Citizen, and who braved all adverse circumstances to become a C’tani Citizen.

“We would have no problem with that,” he said, “it’s really as simple as posting a sign saying ‘don’t shoot each other,’ he said, “and in deference to spirean custom, a mana-dispersal,” the term mana was not one the C’tani used natively, but it flowed well in the local language as he spoke it, “amulet for everyone, with an alarm if you drop it.”

“Also reasonable. We will begin the preparations then. It is a good plan to head off with. Thank you for your input. We look forward to the defense of the C’tani security, and the building of the necessary ties with those we believe will accept the hand of friendship with the Spires. I would also be happy if you, too would join us in the talks? A neutral voice is a good one in the room. It would be a pleasure to welcome Ser Palanedhel, Regent of Altea, as well.”

“If there is one thing that the C’tani aren’t,” he said, “it is neutral,” he said, “we may have no skin in the game of regional histories,” he said, “but we have our goals in international relations, and we wish to see Crystal Spires return to its former influence,” he said, “for that reason alone,” he said, “I will go, I will also ask Palanedhel to bring speakers for some of the Altean Nationalist movements,” he said, “they will have much to say I am sure and the opportunity to appear on the world stage is something many crave.”

“I look forward to hearing what they have to say. I rarely hear what life is like for Alteans in Altea. Spireans are very ignorant in the livelihood and well-being of Alteans due to long-standing hatred between our two nations. It’s easy to see why, they did kill many beastlings and enslaved others. There’s a lot of work to be done in order to repair relations with the Alteans. I hope that that is something we can do with time and understanding. In the meantime I will prepare the invitations for each of the participants in the Convention. With luck and good moderation, I’m sure we’ll at least see some benefit to the Region at large.”

A Message from the High Council of D'hɑlbrisir
Recipient(s): National Leader DB
Encryption: Diplomatic- Level 2

Sender(s): High Chancellor Calisté Chenarn
Subject: Subject Operations

King Tyroth Blackfang
Prime Minister Zihark Jemson
Crown Princess Tynah Blackfang
Ambassador Marron Snowtear
Minister Astram Ventus
Empress Namiko Shimouji
Tobias Patton
Regent Genevieve Stephenson
Secretary of State Severa Uniop
Elentári Sirithil
Minister Nimrie Idwan
Chosen Ayliah Mercine
President Michael Haggar
Special Envoy Gerald Kaang
Secretary of State Norton Simons
Empress Kaimara Nictores
President Naerla Vorsh
Primus rex Stjärnkhrone XIV
Archon Ulindin Curran.
President Fluffykins de Rose
Secretary of State Snowy Dawn
Prime Minister Nadzieja Brzezicki
Minister Eliot Reymont
Ambassador Emily Gosling
Grand Duchess Eyvel Arnheim
Grand Duchess Iriyea Arnheim
Premier Walther von Nisendorf
Chief Diplomat Kiara Matsushita
President Venus Evergarden
Great Fairy Emerald Greenheart
Chairwoman Agatha Smythe-Fitzroy
Ambassador Helga Templeton
Imperator Aetius Flavius of Thalassium
Lord Ignatius Celsus of Seastrom
Lord Drusus Mɑlveyn of Corolin
Grand Lady Kahurangi Ngata of Quichalim
King Elerossë of the House Amroth
Minister Guldor of the House Celairon
High Thane Glorthur Maalhiem
Arrarlun Earthheart Lord of The Thaig of Dorgon
Lonmoic Leadbeard Lord of The Thaig of Ailurisudûl
Umikheam Broadmaster Lord of The Thaig of Hergifell
Thordrouck Bottlebender Lord of The Thaig of Sarivik
Dhomnumi Mithrilmail Lord of The Thaig of Etirholm
Throghul Orebrew Lord of The Thaig of Virilundr
Barimnag Battlebow Lord of The Thaig of Anundfell
Eltrear Snowaxe Lord of The Thaig of Heggrithveit
Hundunri Flintmaster Lord of The Thaig of Thorsiholm
Krosdrobella Cavebrow Lady of The Thaig of Amuriar
Weldrunelyn Lavagrip Lady of The Thaig of Lagdush
Elkhunelyn Deepbringer Lady of The Thaig of Oriadhon
Dorafrealsia Barrelbrew Lady of The Thaig of Nargothroth
Nurarrirgith Hillbranch Lady of The Thaig of Enegron
Mavrana Barbedrock Lady of The Thaig of Gionosea
Lobraelyn Bronzeshoulder Lady of The Thaig of Essenandris
Homnelyn Whitbraid Lady of The Thaig of Dorwin
Kuggona Bitterspine Lady of The Thaig of Elion
Burdinelynn Mineriver Lady of The Thaig of Eathelm
Kurmeabela Stormbrand Lady of The Thaig of Udun
Khomara Ironfist Lady of The Thaig of Zaghel
Amnalynn Snowspire Lady of The Thaig of Barindur
Fervia Lightstone Lady of the Thaig of Kirnbor
Chancellor Arylon Trilary of Corneria
Rosalie Adriane Messandre Princess and Heir Apparent of Altair
Queen Aziane Hadriane Palomo de Messandre Claimant of Palamecia and Queen of Altair
Lord Argus Kendrius Palomo the Third, Claimant of Occupied Palamecia
Queen Hilde Garde of the Wild Rose Rebellion, Claimant of Fynn
Tor Again, High Inquisitor of Kashion
Genira of Arubboth
Adrastea Mirena of Semitt
Chief Orin Vaughn of Perseria
Arvorn the Pure of Archaneia
Adriste Ylisse of Raqia
Dreither Talis of Paloom
Cherial Doluna of Poft
Deygan Valentis Freedom Fighter of the North, Protects Salamand
Andrus Rivena of Gatea
Sabardus Maniros of Bafsk
Aeolus Barnrose The Windrider of the Free Riders, Claimant of Deist
Sa'dral Irvenus of Mechanon
Rheis Fromir of Mysid
Lord Richard Reddelbrek of Idrise
Rhaegar Targaryen, Dragonlord of the Bay of Dragonstone and the Free Marches of Dayne
Palanedhel Regent of Altea
Arnstorana Telissat Amris
Queen Alyxandra Campbell of the Crown Union of Kouralia
Crown Captain of Justiciars, Sir Barynel Caeryn
Legatine Justiciar, Sir Osƿynn Byraþenræ
Queen Discordia Duskscale of Rainfella
Amasal Featherwing

Esteemed Guests,

We of Crystal Spires formally invite you to the Pan-Mystrian International Convention for Glory and Prosperity. In order to ensure the prosperity of our Great Region of Mystria, we require full international cooperation, and it is with pride that we count ourselves as Mystrians seeking the prosperity of our people, and thus as fellow Mystrians we must do our part to ensure that our region become the strongest among all regions through mutual prosperity. Thus we invite you to this convention for the Glory of Mystria.

I have the honor to be your humble host,



Calisté began to send her message through the international network of Mystrian communiqués, but her work had only just begun. She looked at Telissat after filling out her messages and sending them.

“Ser Telissat, I have to say it is truly an honor to actually have this conversation with you, face to face. It is much easier than having to send out a message through proxies. And it goes without saying there’s a few things that I feel need to be demonstrated before we discuss how Security will be organized, but of course, I think perhaps showing you the venue may be called for, or are you too busy?” Calisté asked with a sweet smile as she set her notepad down.

The C’tani looked at her, and shook his head slightly, “I’m not busy, but I’m also not exactly an expert in this particular field,” he said, “I can tell you general feedback but I think it would be worth involving someone who actually knows how these things work better than I,” he said, “that is to say the magic side of the operation,” he said, “I can tell you all about physical security, but there is far more than that to be done I think.”

“I also would like to see whether you think the venue itself would be tasteful to present to the world as well. Let us not forget the notable preference of Spireans to remain above all, hospitable. There are many who will be coming that will oppose us on principle that we are non-human, that we are republicans, that we are communist, that we are supportive of a multicultural society, and that we wish to push forward a proposal of disarmament.” Caliste looked over at Telissat, “If it is one thing we can at least do, it is to make them feel as comfortable as they can without giving off the impression that we are going to be approaching these negotiations with hostility. This is why I suggested Glorelheim as well. It is many things, but above all, it’s a quiet place compared to all the other Spirean Cities, ever moving, and constantly involved. I wonder however if perhaps I’m making the wrong choice, and this is why I’m asking you. You are objective, and I am not.” Caliste pointed out an image upon the screen of her notepad, and it showed an image with an enormous water causeway that rolled like a water course and appeared to be inside a building.

“Not something I imagine others will be particularly used to, as well who knows if they enjoy the ambiance. I’d prefer to have a person who is more normal and comfortable for me to talk freely with. As for the person you believe is best suited to provide guidance on the security in the grounds, who do you have in mind?”

“I would seek a suitable committee of mages, particularly those trained in combat, as well as our own assassins,” he said, “there is no shortage of information out there on such things,” he said, “but, as to the ambiance, I am sure that it will be lovely, you will find that your people are generally better received than mine.”

Calisté’s smile vanished for a moment before returning to a placid expression. “Is that so? I imagine that the C’tani are better welcomed not just around here, but through many places they have been in Mystria. While I am not acquainted to the lives of the average Altean, there is still no question that they are better off in the regency than they have ever been in their lives. I have no doubt there would be many people who would welcome the C’tani with banner and festivities. It is no doubt this was the case when you arrived. Much the same for others. I can’t imagine why C’tani would think otherwise. Tell me, which places have given such poor reception that you appraise it this way?” Calisté asked with an arched brow.

“Many people have contempt for beastlings,” he said, “they fear us, or envy us, or both,” he said, “that is a far safer form of resentment, and no one molests us or seeks to bully us, but we are certainly treated with trepidation. That is why the alliance with Crystal Spires is so valuable to us,” he said, “your own skill as diplomatic power brokers provides many new opportunities for us,” he said, rising, “shall we go?”

“Of course, Telissat. Follow me, we will head to the High Council Building of Glorelheim through the use of Waystones. It’s secure and fairly unique, borrowed from reverse engineering Mysidian Technology. I think you will find it a fairly quick way to travel aside from using direct teleportation, as we know there are wards in place. Let’s head there.”

Calisté lead the C’tani man to one of the High Council Teleportation Stones that the people called the “Waystones”. She swam there herself going from the pools and taking one of the small canals in the building, gesturing for him to follow. The building was filled with hustle and bustle as the day was merely in it’s normal ‘closing time’ preparations and various birds of different colors and songs were perching in the atrium. The High Council Building was one of the few places that had opened its buildings to the outdoors and it was adorned with the plants and perfumed stone and wood to lure the birds in. Through the atrium-filled halls, and deeper into the High Council Chambers was a strangely dark stone. It stood next to a screen and was mounted and fastened to another dark stone that had various symbols on it. It was written in the language of the Spireans, and each symbol was turned until it said ‘aquan’ and then the screen declared various locations throughout the High Council Grid. The lovely mermaid let the tip of her finger touch the screen and marked off various codes and with a movement of her hand the screen said:

You have selected the High Council Building of 
is this correct?
[Yes] No.

“Stand right there, and it will take us to the building we’re going to be preparing in Glorelheim.” She pointed to the Teleportation Circle that surrounded and included the area beside the Canal she was comfortably swimming in. It was made of the same strange dark stone the screen was mounted on. Once he stepped upon the platform, she would press the button, and the entire platform glowed with a bright shining white light with golden undertones and they formed a sigil beneath them

Please wait.
Authorization confirmed.

Now transporting you to the High Council Building of Glorelheim.

The platform began to reveal sigils beneath the Mermaid and the Artificial Intelligence, and with a soft puffing sound that was clearly audible they appeared in an entirely different place. The sun was still in the same position in the sky, but instead of looking down long marbled hallways with huge voluminous ceilings with atriums filled with birds of various sizes they found themselves in a building that appeared like it was a giant indoor botanical garden adjunct to an enormous building that was made of reinforced steel, concrete and stone pulled into the most bewildering dome shapes. The building up ahead seemed to have pathways with enormous pools and rolling water courses that led to the main building.

The giant pools and water courses were designed with an enormous water garden with perfumed pink lotus flowers the size of a small cat that had a heady fragrance. While the water in the pools were shallower than the Caltrisian indoor canals, the pools of Glorelheim still had a very significant depth of water where the mermaid was simply sitting in comfort. She waited for Telissat to follow her to the deeper watercourse and through the main building which appeared to be like an enormous palace with tremendous domes that stood out from the various buildings around it. The domes looked like golden clouds rolling through the horizon and their approach was marked by people in traditional garments walking past, some chattering excitedly as Calisté and Telissat had passed by. The palace opened up similarly into an enormous main hall with five main entrances and a huge platform that rolled into a vestibule which brought itself up to the Solar and beyond the great hall were various conference rooms and offices, some of them were enormous libraries. They passed through a glassy open crossway, and through a courtyard as they entered the enormous diplomatic chamber that was fashioned like an enormous circular theater-like space with various bridges over the watercourses that the mermaid navigated through to reach her spot, another diplomatic desk raised, with a carefully made waterproof desk and pedestal.

“It’s a marvel to anyone who sees it, but even fewer would believe it was actually freely given to the Republic. Strange to imagine that so many people believe us to be thieves, but this palatial estate was donated by a very special man who gave up his title just to walk normally among his fellow citizens.” Calisté sat at the desk and motioned for Telissat to sit beside her. “There are many such stories, surprisingly enough.”

“I am aware of such things,” he said, “I do not think it need be a selling point, we will have many noble-derived states emissaries present,” he paused, “it is an atavistic thing, but we have found that the lure of inherited power is quite universal among beastling type organisms, somewhere between avarice for money and lust for sex,” he said, “the instinct to corrupt an institution and give it to your children is widespread. We should accept this fact and not seek to browbeat the emissaries on this point I think.”

“Indeed not, but it helps to remind people that we never made a point to harm nobles in the first place. This is a thing that seems to be going around. The notion that since we had a revolution that it was beyond the pale in violence or that we went forth to pillage and steal all of the things that belonged to another, ‘vae victus’ and so forth, none of those things were features of our people’s revolution and I think maybe, since so many states here are given to ideologies of Monarchism, we could assuage this point by demonstrating the falsehood of hostility implied here. While a few were exiled and even fewer were executed, there were far many more people who simply surrendered their titles and gave their holdings up until such a position was earned by working for the people.”

“This is not a productive area of discussion Calisté,” Telissat said, “I am well aware of the misinformation put about by the Monarchist party, I do not think re-hashing the Spirean revolution is particularly important for an international audience,” he said, “and a conference center would serve as well, though this is certainly a nice location,” he said, “most of our audience are going to be more interested in the buffet than the paranoid ravings of Snoghosian bloggers.”

“That is true, and the conference room is not as open space, it may echo if we do it here. So perhaps a less big room without the round open area. Maybe across the hall over there with the setup would do nicely. We do have a decent number of representatives coming. I don’t know who will accept our invitation, but this places us at almost 88 representatives alone. The conference room would give us a hundred and fifty seats, but nothing more. We wouldn’t have enough contingencies for any extra visitors. If we do open this hall and do it here instead it would be way more people allowed to come with the Representatives, but perhaps it should be a strictly closed meeting with only the representatives. Though many would hate to be bereft of their security guards which is where C’tani would come in.”

“This is where we would reassure them,” he said, “I am content to say that we have put a non-trivial amount of thought into how to make a conference safe,” the Necrontyr-seeming avatar said, “But in terms of bodyguards, I am not so worried,” he said, “the fact is that we can provide security forces to limit any practical delegation, anyone could,” he said, “but what we want to do is stop common assaults, for that we would suggest raising an overmantle, what you might also hear called a mythal, a temporary regional spell. I am told that we have one that consciously reflects back acts of violence on the perpetrator within a given zone,” he was actually talking through another of his hydra’s many heads to one of the mages involved in such craftings, “Given the high profile of the environment we would of course suggest that this be reduced to non-lethal effects. A trapdoor system would be also used, a technological device that englobes any large scale explosion or energy release and shunts it to another dimension,” he said, “We would also recommend peace-bond talismen that discloses anyone who draws a weapon or attempts to cast any spell within the area, with a visible and distinct aura, that would allow investigation to be carried out at once.”

“And a simple task many of those things would be, but the Mythal is something new to me. How does it work? Is it similar to a Paling broadcast spell?” Calisté asked.

“It is a freestanding magical field,” he said, “I’m not qualified to explain how it really works, it might be comparable,” he said, “it requires some effort from the mages creating it to lay down its parameters and anchor it in space and time correctly, but its continuation after that point is automatic, and it reacts to the,” he paused, “I suppose whatever it is mages have in place of symbolic logic, for events in real space.”

“You don’t do magic either?” Caliste asked. “I was born with a different sort of talent, I never quite had the ability to master magic the way my contemporaries have. I imagine that is another reason many people voted for me as they did. Between many magic mishaps and what happened with Tabril, there’s just been a lot of worry that Spires would never be led by a non-mage. I’m as Forntian as they come, but I’ve no magic to speak of. To me it’s a lot of fingerwaggling and talking without words or thinking that somehow manipulates aether.” She attempted the fingerwaggling but nothing came of it. “See? Not really good at it.”

“Most of my kind,” he said, “have no such talents,” he paused, “the kind of logic required to structure our minds at the speeds and range of function that we experience means that for most forms of magic we are no more capable of small scale focus than a cliff might be,” he paused, “of course some of your knowledge is useful there. But if there is one thing that the C’tani have that spireans do not in terms of magic, it is an archive of aggressive, cruel uses of magic, and ways of using it directly as a tool.”

“I have not heard of those kinds of things before. Can you tell me a little about what you know of your archive?” She tilted her head, not sure what he was referring to.

“In this case,” he said, “the behavioural recursion spell they would use is one that was modified from a weapon of mass destruction, a spell that could blanket an area with violence almost at random,” he said, “we have had a long rivalry with mages, you have doubtless heard of such.”

“I have heard of the rivalry between C’tani and the Great Old Ones, a wizardly race of lizard gods or so I have heard. There’s much more to it than that of course as there has also been rivalry by the once called Imperium of Man and a few other demonic factions. Some I know of, others not. I know that there are some that essentially are creatures that feed on emotions. Dark Magic, that is.” Calisté shuddered. “I have also heard of other beastlings who were once human, but mutated and taken into the cult of violence and slaughter, but there’s very little I know of the exact enmity between C’tani and the use of magic in general. It was initially when I saw what happen during Maven Auryn’s reign that I had the idea that C’tani once had a very troubled history with Mages, am I correct?”

“There’s not really a general proscription, and the Great Civilization is inclusive enough that there are peoples with no such history or peoples who have always been theurgistic or dedicated arcanists,” he paused, “but I don’t think it is worth recounting the necrontyr’s history with such things either,” he said, “We have no single opinion, which is the way we are on a great many topics after all.”

“No people are monolithic, Ser Telissat. I’m sure there’s still a few things most C’tani agree on, for example the belief that the state should be defended, and that those who swear to defend it should be the ones making the decisions. That’s already at least one thing most C’tani agree about, unless people become citizens and revoke that decision after the test is said and done. Is the oath of citizenship binding or do C’tani change their minds?” Calisté asked, not sure if there were still citizens who decided to vegetate in the lotus eater machines.

“I’m not sure why you ask,” he said, “it is very difficult to remove citizenship, but naturally most are committed,” he paused, “it is not I think the most pertinent question as I can assure you there will be no one present fitting that description,” he said, “but attitude to magic is a topic where opinions are most divided,” he said, “still, this we can do, and we can do well. In the worst case scenario we will likely have Pariahs and other resources on hand. If we truly get someone egregious we can always teleport them into the sun. But really I don’t think such extremes would be required. Rest assured it will be run competently.”

“I have heard many powerful and strong mages will come, but I trust the Necrons and the C’tani in this matter perhaps especially because I know strong mages and strong fighters will come. All around Mystria there are still warrior and explorer Kings. Many of the Countries of Mystria still have very powerful people in powerful positions. Maven Auryn was a soldier and a battlemage, and me? I’m an ordinary person. A politician who’s good at what she does, but just a person. I suppose that’s why I was hoping you’d accept my request, and I’m very glad you did. Hardly anyone knows what to expect with this meeting, and I don’t know how much cooperation we will be expecting given that potentially hostile nations are having a seat at the negotiating table, but at least we’re up for discussions at all.” Calisté pointed out. “That is already a large bonus in our favor.” Calisté showed Telissat to the conference room across the hall, much like the enormous botanical garden the building was easy to see through and gave a phenomenal view of the lakes in the distance and the eddies that reflected the color of the sunset. “It should be more than enough to give us enough room for people to set up the negotiations, and hopefully just talk.”

Calisté turned to Telissat. “Do you think these will be more fruitful discussions… than the ones preceding the bombing of Lynnberg and Lothar?”

“I believe that we are obsessing on the security issues here, we have many issues to propose, but, Comrade Chenarn,” he said, “tell me more of what you want specifically from this enterprise. What can I do for you, diplomatically?”

“We can try and get the issues that both align with C’tani and Spirean interests, namely building up a circle of alliances that build on our strengths and guard the weaknesses of our respective peoples. There’s no doubt in my mind that there are many of those we could certainly sway to build an entire region also allied with both Spirean and C’tani interests in mind. But that goes without saying that if we change minds and get them to see things as C’tan and Spires does, perhaps that’s all the pressure they need in order to build up a large coalition to ensure that all of us prosper and no region outside ours threatens us. It is for that reason we must be careful about the approach. Some will come to us making demands, others will simply listen and not abide, but those who do abide, will build pressure against those who won’t. We can get agitators to become peacemakers simply out of the need to unite against a common enemy, which we know will come from the outside rather than from within, and if they come from within, we should not be surprised by it.”

“I am not sure that we should consider talk of enemies so swiftly,” Telissat said, “we have enough enemies already, but I will defer to your judgement in these matters,” he said, “we have little that we think is an essential outcome here, it will be worthwhile if we get people to talk to one another,” he said, “that is all that we would ask.”

“The High Treefolk have aggressed against us, and are our enemies. The Elves of Ealdurim have broken their truce with us, which means they too are looking to act in aggression towards us. The various parties we know too little of… we can’t be sure they will or will not be approaching this meeting with no lead in their mind and murder in their hearts. Does Ser Telissat believe that this is not a certainty?”

“They are already our enemies, but they are not of consequence to most of the region,” he said, “but they are hostile to the Spires, I would of course favour removing the Treefolken from the invitation list,” he said, “but that is my own prejudices,” he said, “and, Comrade, please.”

Calisté smiled, brilliance rising from her eyes, it was a gesture of real friendship. She was looking for this call, as it was something that Spireans truly believed marked a person who was a trustworthy person. She nodded and sighed in relief.

“Given that they have previously attempted to murder as many of our people as they could, it is something I favor as well. While there is a benefit to opening the door to communication, I think perhaps it is too soon for the Spirean people. There is likely to be derision or unrest should the Gathering Step forth upon Spirean soil and not be punished for their horrendous injustices. I think it would be better to ensure this goes well by trying to avoid giving them a platform to build alliances.”

Minister Nimrie Idwan
Chosen Ayliah Mercine

“And do you think it is a benefit to invite various claimants of Altean lands or the claimants to Altea’s throne? Will it be disrespectful to Regent Palanedhel to invite them?”

“They would only be there in the role of observers,” he said, “the likes of the Golden Lion Front are not invited, and of course are not going to be travelling openly,” he said, “the others, we are fine with, we have our designs for Altea, as you know, and giving the various nations of Altea’s Confederacy some exposure is something we both agree on.”

“Indeed, this is true, but the question is should we invite Inquisitor Tor Again, and well… the Carcenese. I haven’t even recalled to add them in, as they have been in isolation ever since the conflict between them and us and the treatment of magi, and we haven’t heard from Ameli in a while.” The Spirean looked grimly at the C’tani, “Did anything happen to her? I recall she was a pony and ponies are intrinsically tied to magic, so we were concerned that she might have met an ill fate at the hands of the anti-mage factions in Carceno. It’s because of that that I have not yet appended the leader of Carceno in.”

“Carceno is not an issue,” he said, “she was a shifter as well but I believe she is well, though she was a little close to my predecessor to have any real contact with me,” he paused, “I would not invite the Carcenese, they will not come. As to Tor Again, he is a wanted criminal who has committed crimes against Cantalvia, and the region of Altea he is from is not being considered for self-rule in the near future,” which given that it had already had it was rather damning, “I would see no particular benefit in bringing either of them, and Palanedhel can represent any interests of the people of the ‘Flame Country.’”

“Very well, but it would be interesting if we could have Tor come and be taken by the C’tani to send him to Cantalvia to stand trial for the train incident. The use of chemical weapons against civilians is unforgivable, all the more reason we intend to define illegal weapons in the first place for Mystrians. To use such a weapon against innocent people is barbarism.”

Inquisitor Tor Again

“Who else is on your shit-list, Comrade?” Telissat asked.

“Heh, what a long list that would be, Comrade Telissat.” She smirked with a turn of her gaze to him and she laughed as they shared another bit of tea and playful gossip. What they spoke about, only they would know.
Last edited by Crystal Spires on Mon Mar 18, 2019 2:46 pm, edited 2 times in total.
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Inoffensive Centrist Democracy

Postby Dyste » Fri Mar 08, 2019 9:50 pm

Dystan Royal Airship Gungnir
Skies over Crystal Spires

The island nation of Dyste was one with a rich history within Mystria, albeit one that at times seemed a bit at arm's length with other powers in the region. They usually stayed out of foreign conflicts, but were more than willing to engage in trade and diplomacy with nations that they found common ground with. Ever since their efforts in diplomacy during the Imperial War, Dyste has had long-standing relationships with many nations, and while strained under their isolationist period, efforts by the government have mostly repaired any damage done. That said, moving to affect Mystria as a whole has never seemed to be in their interest, but perhaps now was the time to finally change this.

Marron was... actually, it was rather difficult to tell just by looking at her. Her ears were pointed much like an elf's, albeit they appeared to be slightly scaly. Unlike the more traditional elven build, however, she was large and heavyset, with loose white hair and darker brown skin she bore fully. In actuality, she was a hybrid of three races, though if anyone asked her what she was, she'd just give them her name in response. Relaxing on one of the couches in the lounge room of the luxury airship, her hair was being combed by a pale-skinned, silver-haired elven woman, with a build while smaller was not too unlike her master's, and with a red robe tied with a golden sash. "C'mon, Silver," she sighed as her maid was tending to her hair, "I think that's enough. I want to be sincere, I don't want to feel all fancied up for the occasion."

"You know I must, Your Highness," Silver, her maid, bowed to her, "this is your first big job as an Ambassador, and not only that, His Majesty will be here too. I trust you do not want to let him down?"

"No, no, of course not." While her mother's homeland was far away from these lands, Marron was born and raised in Dyste, and considered herself Dystan, not to mention her Silverdalen roots as well. "I know that Marron Drago-ACK!" she felt the touch of fine ale spilling over her. "Watch it!"

"My apologies, Miss Snowtear," the dwarven barmaid gave a bow; she was tall by dwarven standards, with a curvy figure and long black hair, "I should say that Miss Snowtear will be able to do fine, correct, Miss Snowtear?"

"Okay, okay, I get it, geez!" she threw her hands up in frustration as her maid cleaned up the spell, "Anyways, I know that 'Marron Snowtear' is not exactly a famous name around these parts, but if I wanna make Mama proud, even if it means I gotta go to some boring conference or whatever."

"My, my, I highly doubt it will be that boring," a towering figure emerged from the main deck, one that everyone in Dyste, and most in Mystria, would recognize instantly. It was not just anyone in Mystria who would be the ruler of a nation for over five hundred years, after all. Tyroth Blackfang was tall even by his own kind's infamously large size, with the royal colours of black and gold on display with his own body, a mantle of the same royal colours draped across his back, "After all, I will be there."

Marron sat up, but still keeping the rather slightly too relaxed demeanour, "Yeah, yeah, I get why you're going and all that, can't have a Mystrian convention without Mr. Hero-King and all that. But why me?"

"Let us just say I owe you and your mother some gratitude." The king looked out the window, seeing the natural beauty of the land, "Ah, Crystal Spires! How long has it been since I have been here last..."

"Were you not here a few years ago, Sire?" Another Draconid, this one a more slight, forest green-scaled individual, spoke up, having buried his face in a book for the trip until this point. "On the other hand, I do not recall ever being here, as if a king takes all the diplomatic missions for himself..."

"Come now, Zihark," Tyroth felt a little wounded by this, "I do these sorts of jobs in part to be helpful while the government deals with the day-to-day issues. But I am glad you agreed to come for this one, you could use a little more foreign policy experience."

"Indeed, that we can agree on," the Prime Minister's expression was blank, though whether this was the Draconid facial expressions being hard to read at times or simply stoicism on the Wind Draconid's part remained unclear. "A meeting of this undertaking requires both of us to deal with, seeing as we have both longtime allies, new potential meetings, and... one former enemy. "Are you at all concerned about Corneria possibly being there, Your Majesty?"

"You need not worry, that was all in the past," Tyroth was rather cavalier about the whole thing, it seemed, rather impressive considering they used to rule his people and at one point cursed him to a level of weakness he never wished to feel again. "It is not me you should be worried about, anyways!"

"I am sad to admit that you are completely right about that one," Zihark sighed, he sometimes had to question his king's motives as times like this. "Your daughter had been focusing totally on her training and not one minute spent on actually researching the nations that will be here."

"This shall be her quest by flames, or however that saying goes, as it were." If Draconids were capable of sweating, it was likely Princess Tynah Blackfang would be drenched in hers by now. She had gone most of the trip wailing on a practice dummy, a nifty one designed by a Dystan Mage that could instantly repair damage to a degree. Tynah herself for the most part resembled her father to an almost unreal degree, only being slightly smaller and slimmer, with a more subdued gray cloak instead, albeit with a patterned sash. "Tynah, my dear, is it not time for you to take a break? It is not like you can even take your weapon collection within the meeting anyways!"

Tynah pressed her axe against the sash, causing the weapon to disappear and a picture of an axe showing on the sash. She gave a pouty face to her father, as if she was a big kobold, "Father, I am a Knight, not a Diplomat! Surely either Mahks or Tyfis would be superior choices to having me..."

Tyroth crossed his arms and gave an unusually stern tone, "It is entirely because of this that I know you have to be here. After all, were something to happen to me, you would be the next Monarch of Dyste, and you need to be aware of the lands and people of other nations! Do not expect to simply coast by with the aid of Parliament!" He breathed out, and resumed his more jovial tone, "And besides, I think you will find a few guests there that you will be all too happy to see..."

"Arrivingbold!" An announcement came from the pilot's deck, where a kobold with a pilot's hat was getting ready to set down the airship at the dock.

"I believe that is our cue," Tyroth grinned, pulling out a leather-bound tome within his cloak, "And before anyone asks, yes I brought a gift for our host. My information on this land may be a bit outdated, but I am not that out of touch on matters. I think they will find this quite interesting, to say the least.

Marron yawned awake, brushing aside Silver as she stood up, "Ugh, good thing I'm not expected to wear anything fancy... or anything at all, really." She had heard about that land where it was illegal to wear clothing would be here, so it wasn't like she'd be alone in that feeling. "Now I guess we just gotta wait for the ship to land..."

"Marron, have you never been paying attention any of those times you have served my father on a trip," Tynah gave a big grin, "We Blackfangs to not wait for our arrival! Tyroth's Adventuring Rule #5: Always make a strong entrance!"

"Oh, so you do read those!" Tyroth almost seemed giddy with excitement, as he was giving the last instruction to his kobold staff, "I am more than ready to meet the other delegates. Whether they are ready to meet me, that is the true question, GHAHAHA!" Giving a bow, the kobolds opened the door. Tyroth launched a few sparks for show, and dropped out of the ship, flying down as the sparks trailed down alongside him. Tynah in turn leaped after him to join her father in a little flight show, albeit with no extra effects of her own, as they flew to the surface, the kobolds cheering them on.

Marron sighed at the display of the king and his daughter, "Do they ever just let the ship land and exit like normal people?"

"That would require a level of self-restraint and caution that I fear the House of Blackfang lacks on a fundamental level," Zihark gave a slight smile, being all too used to seeing his king's antics, "But it is part of the reason they are beloved to this day. I hope you are ready for this 'boring' meeting, Ambassador..." He offered a hand to the woman as they and the rest of the staff(bolds) departed from the docked airship.
Dyste: A nation of large, long-lived, magic-using dragon-people (Draconids) ruled by a legendary adventurer. Realism? What's that?
Embassy Program
Rulers: King Tyroth, Queen Sarisa, Prime Minister Zihark Jemson
Capital: Valitora
Government Type: Semi-Constitutional Monarchy
Population: 14,457,200, Draconid Majority (60%), Kobold/Dino/Elven/Pony/Human minorities
Founded: Early 15th century
Tech: Lower-tech fantasy (can RP with PT/MT)
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Capitalist Paradise

Postby Imeriata » Sat Mar 09, 2019 1:18 pm

"The Mystria prosperity convention!" the speaker of the military advisory said with a scoff dripping of distaste. "We offered the exact same thing with the greater Mystrian co-propsertiy sphere and we were laughed at! Besides, to the cold dark with the Dhalmark! They are happy to accept support and soldiers when they need it, happy to see federal subjects bleed and die for them, but when we are the ones standing to hold off voidspawn from claiming Dimheim they are laughing and pointing the finger! We should not even speak with scoundrels as those" he continued with a scoff using the good old tongues word for D'halbrisir. Most of the small group of people looked at him with nods, the royal court was not present but instead as it was such a minor thing to discuss had Primus summoned only the heads of the advisories, the lords elect, the appointee of the noble ting, and a few high ranking clerics and military personnel. Of course true to form was the attaché from the guard looking around rather bored, mostly concerned by matters of bayonets and shells and did not have much patience for the finer politicking which was a common view of most warriors, a few of the more annoying lords elect had intentionally been given seats at the far back of the large room the group to avoid them butting in with some daft idea. While the high king's rule was absolute was it still customary for him to ask for advice in his decisions so here was the entire group of advisers to advise him in the manner.

"True... scoundrels they might be, we should still not let them hold whatever conspiratorial meetings without us having a say in what goes on!" Holger Björkssen, one of the lord elects that seemed more interested in further the royal merchant guild and his own cause despite his official status as an elective of the people technically was too rich to hold office or vote for the commonry, but he had inherited the position when his father died. Despite that did Primus have to admit that he had grown somewhat fond of the young man that seemed well spoken and rather sensible in most instances.

"Bah and what if they do? Let them speak and scheme, we have our federation to concern ourselves with and to hell with what the Dimheimers do or think! We can keep to ourselves until judgement day if need be! As long as the fleet patrols the seas we could technically close the borders permanently and only peak out when we decided to reach for new conquests!" Torvald Torbjörnssen Cut in, one of the lords elect that had been placed at the far end of the room just to avoid outbursts like these.

"Similarly could we also cut off our small fingers and suffer very few ill effect on the whole!" An old man spoke up, Lord Edward auf stjärnhelm the speaker for the external affairs advisory, one of the old few men from the old regime that still hang around.
"Trade alone would take hits, we could make due but we would lose a lot of money we make in exports!" Holger added.
"Yes... Thank you, when I was but a wee lad we learned to let our elders speak youngherr!" the old man added looking at Holger with a frown as the merchant gave a quick bow.
"My apologies my lord!"

"As I was saying I doubt..."

"oh it is only money that is the matter is it then? Money comes before pride of the federation?"
Torvald cut in again as Edward begun speaking again.

"That is hardly..."

"KRAK!" a loud pistol blast rang out and everyone looked in horror towards the military attaché that was re holstering a pistol. "I believe his lordship was about to make his case!" the man said with a quick nod towards the older speaker of the external affairs advisory.
"Was... Was that a tracer round!" Edward said in shock as everyone was looking from the man to the now big glowing hole in the sandstone roof.
"Then why the bloody hell is it glowing white?!?" someone cut in, a young lady from the external affairs advisory that hailed from Imerian Africa if Primus was not entirely mistaken, but he was not too sure as she worked under Edward not himself. Most eyes once again went up towards the ceiling that again had an unmistakable bright white glow to it.
"Could be a lot of reasons!" the military man offered with the most obvious poker face as he nodded towards Edward again.
"Aren't... Aren't those made out of Magnesium?!?" a monk, dressed in a very simple white loincloth that marked him as a servant of the fierce unconquerable sun, said in the same shocked tone.
"Well made with magnesium... they aren't entirely made out..." the military officer explained and was cut off by the sound of a lot of chairs quickly moving away from under the glowing hole. "Besides. See! stopped glowing! Now as his lordship was saying..."

"Uhm... yes... thank you commander... as I was saying... uhmm... ah yes, I believe it is best that we... is that water coming out of... no lets focus on the important... if we are there we can most likely make our case and make sure nothing too bad happens!" Edward said with a quick finish.

"Yes, we have decided we will attend, least we need to worry more about our ceilings!" Primus cut in quickly "Thus is our will, you are all excused and we thank you all for your insight... also our will is to summon a plumber, we don't like that dripping!"
"don't the... I think the main pluming for the kitchens goes through here..."

The royal and federal Aeroship Khönungadansare

Primus sat with a heavy sigh on the sturdy but padded ornate chair that decorated the part of the deck that he lived on when the aeroships flew around, the few days trip in an aeroship from Scandera to Mystria proper to refuel and resupply in Sirmera before finally heading off to Spires as part of a small group of four aeroships. A lot of that time had been taken up by the few normal duties of states taken care of over radio and a surprising lot of reports about large scale pluming repairs in the palace besides studying over what could be granted during a conference like this and what the federation could demand and refuse to budge over. A task that the external and infernal affairs advisory had taken a great deal of time to mull over so that he knew exactly what he would want out of any conference like this. Most likely just a bunch of foreigners screaming about the federation and handily forgetting about what the federation had done for them all if he could guess, but that was just the way of things and the burden of the peoples of the federation to bear he assumed. If anything he was still a bit annoyed about them just writing his first and last name and ignoring his titles on the letter, from a republican no less, shocking that.
Well at least they were drawing close at least and would soon be able to stretch their legs.
Last edited by Imeriata on Sat Mar 09, 2019 1:25 pm, edited 2 times in total.
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Democratic Socialists

Postby Malgrave » Sat Mar 09, 2019 1:46 pm

Triumph Puffin, Glorelheim, Crystal Spires.

It was safe to say that the United Kingdom of Malgrave had a rather complicated history with the Mystrian region. In the immediate years following its foundation on its original homeland, the Malgravean mood was optimistic and the people held a rather internationalist outlook on international affairs, with various Foreign Ministers leading efforts to introduce the new Malgravean state with the local community, and of course, the country maintained a policy of open borders that allowed the population to rise and several bustling cities to form, sadly however the Mystrian region wasn't entirely conducive to the Malgravean diplomatic outreach attempt, and the fact that they had unsettled a small Imerian fishing colony soon brought them into the warpath of one of the largest and most aggressive Imperial powers in the region.

The United Kingdom attempted to fight back against the Imerian conquest, however, only the Soviets responded to the Malgravean calls for international assistance, and the strength of the vast Imerian Empire was too much for the young nation to take. Instead of falling victim to the Imerian offensive the Malgraveans made the bold decision to leave, and with the assistance of the Soviets and a few private merchant companies the Malgraveans fled their original homeland and set up a new home near the nation of Rohanian Alista.

In short order, the strains of the Great Exodus became evident in society, as differing radical groups offered a radical change on the future, on one side stood the communists, individuals who had been radicalised during their time spent on board Soviet vessels, while far-right nationalists stood on the other side. Malgrave soon found itself in political crisis, with the rationing situation, collective housing arrangements and the dire state of the economy soon aggravating the situation and in 1938 the Malgravean Communist Party and the Patriotic Front both conducted terrorist attacks that led to the passing of the National Security and Stabilisation Act of 1938. In response both the far-left and far-right sections led to establish what would become the Socialist Republic of Malgrave and the National Workers' Republic of Malgrave and start the period known as the Malgravean Civil War.

In fear of external meddling in their internal affairs, the United Kingdom of Malgrave entered a period of strict isolation as they dealt with the separatist republics, the period of isolation lasted from 1938 and only ended in 2000 following provisions established in the Epping-Rensk Agreement signed between the United Kingdom of Malgrave and the Socialist Republic in 1983.

Prime Minister Nikola Tesla and the Progressive Unity Party was in power in 2000, and the politician was cautious about re-entering the international community, so the initial progress on international matters was slow with the Malgravean state just making connections with a few states like their Rohanian neighbours and the Kouralian Union, a nation that would quickly forge a strong connection with the Malgravean people, however, a series of incidents soon occurred that led to Malgrave engaging more openly with the international community.

In 2009 a radical section of the old Malgravean Communist Party unsatisfied with the Epping-Rensk Agreement detonated an explosive device in Helas Metro Station during the rush hour period, the resulting structural collapse of the building led to several hundred civilians dying and caused the Prime Minister to resign from office, this action led to Rachel Berry essentially becoming appointed Chairperson of the Progressive Unity Party and Prime Minister. Rachel Berry backed a more aggressive approach to international affairs, and she soon supported efforts to assist Crystal Spires and commence anti-slavery operations against the Imerian navy and merchant fleet. In 2013 another event shook the nation as marauders from space threatened the Malgravean nation from orbital bombardment, however, in an act of courageous self-sacrifice the Queen handed herself over to Atumite captivity and prevented Malgrave from suffering the awful fate of orbital bombardment.

It was easy to say that the so-called Great Humiliation had left a significant strain on the Malgravean people, and that was also true of the government, and the abduction of the Queen-regent only added to these matters, with the Prime Minister now fulfilling the role of the Queen, and in 2019 Rachel Berry herself stepped down to be replaced.

As Prime Minister Nadzieja Brzezicki looked out over Glorelheim she couldn't help but feel that her own history was weighing down on her shoulders, the Spirean city certainly looked impressive and she was confident that the Spireans would be excellent hosts for the diplomatic exchange but she couldn't help but feel nervous.

"It looks like quite a beautiful city, Nadzieja. I can see why the Spireans thought this would be a location," Eliot said from her position in the car, the politician was far more comfortable in her position as Minister of Foreign Affairs, instead of her more usual choice of outfit the Foreign Minister was wearing a red sleeveless sheath dress, an outfit that allowed her to retain her need for professionalism while showing off her figure.

"Just remember to present our gift to our Spirean hosts and act as usual and everything will be fine," Emily said sensing the Prime Minister's nerves, the Malgravean Ambassador was wearing a blue Qípáo decorated with flowers from both her Malgravean homeland and Crystal Spires, "I have been dealing with Spirean officials for several years now and I have found that they are remarkably easy to negotiate with, especially since we tend to share a few common values."

"I'll do my best to remember that," Nadzieja said as she held an old oak box, the inside contained two sections, one containing a popular treat in Malgrave called dragons beard candy and another being an earthy and energising tea produced in small facilities in Omsk, "It should certainly be an interesting day." the Prime Minister said as she stepped out of the stationary Triumph Puffin. In comparison to her counterpart, the Prime Minister was wearing a black blazer, navy blue button-up shirt and a simple pair of light brown trousers.

"It's going to be great!" Emily Gosling said as she left the Triumph, "I mean what is the worst that could happen?"
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The Ctan
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Inoffensive Centrist Democracy

Postby The Ctan » Sat Mar 09, 2019 7:48 pm

Sal Viderin Hotel, Glorelheim, Crystal Spires

Far over the Altean border, a woman who was clan matriarch of the Nayali Wanderers asked a Necrontyr engineer who travelled with her of a tale of a wandering persecuted people who had settled within the Great Civilization and endured no further woes. For a moment he had been taken aback by this question, for there was no shortage of peoples who had come, and he had been uncertain what she wished to hear.

“I wish,” she had asked, “to hear a story about how a wandering people found a place where they could journey through a land beloved and not hated by all those who spot them. A people proud and brave if not the best warriors in their lands. A people with a cunning mind and warm hearts, those like ours, so that I can see what happy endings sound like.”

He had not chosen to tell her of the story of the Folk of the Black Swan, because their own tale was a tale of Mystria, too near for his need, and of course because one of the young men who had been brought as a refugee to the Great Civilization had gone on to achieve a great measure of fame, as Lygngarma, the emissary of the Great Civilization in charge of the mission to aid D’halbrisir.

Goldbeorn nos Dunnealc, however, was not so famous, but proof enough, the House of the Black Swan was first and foremost a group of exiles of the myst continent, almost all of its members hailed indirectly from the reclusive realm of Ealdurim, or were a generation or two removed from it. Not the greatest warriors, few had been born to fight, nor the greatest mages of their homeland, who ruled, but the common people. Their names were usually chosen from their long suppressed mother tongue, learned of the loremasters, in defiance of the claims of their home country.

Their style of dress was distinctive, for the Great Civilization was great not only in its abilities, the proud boast that most heard when its name was spoken, but great in size, and there was no shortage of diversity in belief, in language, let alone in fashion. The robes of the Dunnealc folk, better known as the Lindi, were built upon the shoulders with feathers and leaves, still alive in both case by subtle artifice, or preserved so as to seem so at least. Deep purples and violets, greens and other colours of darkness were worn, and as he swept through the porticos of Glorelheim’s hotels and reception areas. The heat of the south eastern part of the Spires troubled him not, for the clothes he wore, although conciously rustic, were constructed with breathable fibre, and more than that, unlike many of his folk he was of hale and undiminished body, unlike many of the elves who had fled with his people. Upon his head he wore antlers of twisted ivory, burned black and polished to a bright sheen, that gave him the appearance almost of a beastling or a necrontyr.

As much as Goldbeorn seemed lordly and mighty, he was not so by birth, nor, indeed, was he a warrior or a mighty man of mysteries, he traded not in such things, but in the law. He was a Speaker of Laws, a term that might be rendered as Advocate or Barrister, the senior grade of lawyers in the Great Civilization’s courts, and he had come to be here not by deeds slaying monsters or men, but in argument, discovery, and sage counsel.

He gave the Sign of Greeting to the guards as he passed from the residential areas of the Sal Viderin Hotel to the conference suite. The guards here were necrons, Sentinels, the new forms that had replaced the aging Warrior constructs, high-crested and broad shouldered, they were adorned with fabrics, in the colours of their home clans. Goldbeorn, and his people, did not need to be good at warfare when they had the military technology that created such things.

Not that the Sentinels were entirely created by their own technology, they were not the ‘soup’ constructs of others, but a closer analysis with an eye that understood them would see magitech woven throughout their bodies, created here, in fact, though to designs created by the C’tani, the industrial capacity of Crystal Spires in that area was not to be underestimated.

The room within was one of several that had been given over not to planning the conference, nor to the debates, but to the C’tani’s own goals for these things.

He had taken breakfast in the hotel’s restaurant, with the dozens and dozens of his peers here. There was a significant call for drafting treaties, and the entire hotel, save a few who had reservations beforehand, had been booked by the Great Civilization’s Diplomatic Service, giving it a rare day of being full to its capacity since the majority of refugees had moved out after building programmes had gone into full operation in Glorelheim. The breakfast was faultless of course, mango, mamey sapote and annona, pineapple and jackfruit, baked goat’s cheese, served with a bowl of nuts with macadamia, copra, almond and castañas, as well as later, flatbread and goat’s meat.

Goldbeorn was not in the employ of the aforesaid Diplomatic Service, but he wore its silver runic pins on his chest, the woman he spoke to, however, was.

Her own hand rose in the Sign of Greeting and she gave a broad smile, she was shorter than he, human, and wore a close cut robe over slight trousers, a turban of the same material rested atop her head, displaying her allegiance to the Vertian Faith, a uniform alteration to the robes of her office and holding her dark hair out of sight, while her eye gleamed with the jade green of an augmetic. “Good morning,” she said, with a slight bow, “I trust you slept well Comrade Goldbeorn?”

The ‘comrade’ had started as a jest three nights ago, when the group had been out exploring the riverside bars, all of them wearing discretion clips, a sleek device that sat behind the ear (or other appendage) and shocked one something fierce if one began to speak of business, religion or politics, the essential appendage and accessory to carousing, and also a mandatory requirement of the Diplomatic Service on this posting. It had become a sign of solidarity with their Spirean hosts afterward, and one that the entire delegation had started using even in private.

“I didn’t sleep Comrade Andrina,” he said, “no sleep, only law.” This was true, of course, his kind could forego it without needing to gland anything, while most of their human colleagues had been conciously in deeper sleep, to order the mind last night, he’d been awake, trying to place a legal framework on the Spirean proposals.

“I don’t envy you,” she said, passing him a coffee, the ‘bane of the necrontyr,’ neither was, and he took it gratefully, supping it gingerly and raising his eyebrows.

“Looking forward to this?” she asked.

Goldbeorn smiled to Andrina, “I do believe so,” he said, “anything on the action board before we head out today?”

“No new changes,” she said, nodding across the room, indicating the Altean claimants and their assigned advocates. Goldbeorn’s job in the conference was a simple one, he was the legal advisor to Adrastea Mirena, one of the Altean Confederation’s sundry representatives from the regions likely to be granted independence. His chief job was to ensure that she was provided with the advice required to understand the nature of proposals and agreements, though the Altean Emissaries - save Palanedhel himself - did not now represent independent states, and could not sign treaties of their own authority, it was expected that any agreement created would be grandfathered into their own legal arrangements upon being made ‘independent’ C’tani protectorates.

And that was only part of why they all needed several legal representatives…

“Ah,” he said, “that is good. I see they’re still not bringing Syrian. Where is he anyway?”

“Oh,” Andrina said, “he’s being entertained,” she said with a sly smile.
"If any should be slaves, it should be first those who desire it for themselves, and secondly those who desire it for others. When I hear anyone arguing for slavery I feel a strong impulse to see it tried on him personally." ~ Abraham Lincoln
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Rohane Alista
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Left-Leaning College State

Postby Rohane Alista » Sat Mar 09, 2019 7:51 pm

RAAF Shadowfax, above Glorelheim

The Shadowfax, His Eminence’s (or in this case, Her Glory The Regent’s) private aircraft, circled Glorelheim as it waited for permission to land. A sleek job, the plane was maintained by the Air Force but owned by the imperial family. It had been upgraded and outfitted with all the latest defensive technology, including reactive plating, emergency flares and chaff, and even an electrical burst machine for absolute emergencies. The most significant upgrade, however, was the replacement of the engines, which had been exchanged for more powerful fighter engines, allowing the plane to break the speed of sound.

The plane had also been described as “sexy” by some of the mechanics who worked on her, but they were an odd bunch under normal circumstances. It was certainly distinct from the several airships that many nations in Mystria seemed to favor, but it had always seemed to the Rohanians that without the inherent magics of many of the other nations, they were forced to choose the scientifically practical instead of the magically easy.

Inside the plane were the truly important things, however. These truly important thing were the Rohanian delegates to this Pan-Mystrian Conference. The centerpiece, leader, and only one in clothing most cultures would find acceptable was Her Glory The Regent Genevieve Stephenson, the wife of His Eminence and thus Empress of Rohane Alista. She was in a pink dress, the top a corset like structure that hugged her curves, the bottom a flowing skirt. The bodice was covered in a pattern of lace that extended up to her bare shoulders and neckline. The pattern was an intricate series of vines, leaves, and flowers, and many of the more complex pieces were highlighted by small yet gleaming gems. All in all, the dress was designed to radiate beauty, wealth, and compassion all in one. She also had jewels in her hair, ornaments on a tight braid down her back, and small jewels on her heels, themselves a matte pink to fit the color scheme she’d chosen.

The other notable delegates on the plane wore only overcoats, made of a clear plastic material, for protection against the elements. Among them were Severa Uniop, Secretary of State for Rohane Alista, and one of His Eminence’s most important advisors, as well as Arnold Estlemann, Minister of Trade, and de facto foreign expert for the cabinet. Arnold had brought along his Aide de Camp, Anita Persky, for assistance. There were several minor delegates, officials, and Omega Troopers on board as well, but most would likely not ever take a seat at the negotiation tables.

A sigh was heard from the regent, as she finished crocheting a surprisingly large plush cow. “I know it would have probably been better to get them something more significantly Rohanian,” she said slightly forlornly. “But with what happened to Jaciob, I’ve got so much time, and I heard Spireans like personalized things,” she finished, adding the cow plushie to a pile with a bear panther, dolphin, and dragon. “I do wish you two at least would’ve worn clothing, though,” she gave a small judging look to Severa and Arnold.

For their part, Arnold and Severa glanced at each other and Severa shook her head before replying. “Your Glory,” she began, “I know you think we should have, but the invitation did ask for everyone to come in their traditional dress, which is… not much, for us,” She concluded, then added another thought. “Of course, no one will judge your dress, but at least for the rest of us it’s much more comfortable to be in the nude if I’m honest.”

Before Genevieve could reply, there was the sound of small feet and then a child, who seemed from height to be about 9 or 10, ran into the compartment. “Mama, Mama, they said we’re almost there!” the little girl said excitedly, getting a smile and a nod from her mother as she was lifted into her lap. The little girl wore a simple pink dress with horses embroidered on it, as well as small, child sized versions of the shoes her mother wore. “Is it true they have animal people, mama?” The child asked with wonder in her voice.

“Now now Jasmine,” Her Glory The Regent replied. “They’re not called ‘animal people’ honey, they’re called beastlings. We wouldn’t want to hurt their feelings by accidentally calling them something bad, would we?”

“Nooo,” Jasmine replied with a small pout. “I wasn trying to insult them, mama, just that I heard they has like, animal ears and tails and stuff! You don think I hurt their feelings?”

“No, Jasmine, you didn’t hurt their feelings,” Genevieve replied with a small chuckle. “But let’s be extra good so we don’t hurt anyone else’s feelings on purpose, ok?”

Jasmine gave a determined nod to this, before her mother sat her in her seat and buckled her in. Just as she did, a voice came over the intercom, announcing that the plane was beginning descent to land at Glorelheim Aeroharbor.
Last edited by Rohane Alista on Sat Mar 09, 2019 7:52 pm, edited 1 time in total.

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Iron Fist Consumerists

Postby Thalassium » Mon Mar 11, 2019 6:08 am

Pilkas River, Glorelheim Approach

Imperator Aetius Flavius was quiet, his purple and blue robes swaying lightly with the small wind blowing across the deck of the ship, their golden trim occasionally catching the sun and shining. He was glad for his formal sandals, a sturdy turtle leather, cured and cared for to keep them in peak position so they could continue to protect the Imperator’s feet long into the future. He stared out into the rainforest, but mostly watched the water behind the riverboat move as the ship sailed along. As with almost all Thalassians, he felt a particular affinity for the water and the vessels that traveled it. He was shortly joined by three other figured, each in their own finery.

He glanced to his left, brushing a small tuft of his deep black hair out of his eyes, where the first to join him stopped. Another human, this man was Lord Ignatius Celsus, Grand Duke of Seastrom, Industrial Titan of Thalassium, and Head of House Celsus. He wore robes only slightly less ostentatious than those of the Imperator himself, a deep red in color with copper, gold, and silver sewn throughout the seams, flashing when he made movements with his arms, which was often as the man was noted even among Thalassians as an active speaker. His shoes shined similarly, decorates with small gems and baubles of highly polished metal as he stepped in his own pair of formal sandals. In fact, as he spoke, he used his motions for emphasis, much in the tradition of the classical speakers, which had the amusing side effect of causing his red hair to bounce lightly on top of his head when he was particularly fierce.

Turning his head right, the Imperator took in Grand Lady Kahurangi Ngata of Quichalim, Patron of Arts and Church. Technically the Imperator was the current head of the Thalassian faith, but the real power in the church rested in the hand of the Grand Lady, as it had with most Grand Ladies before her. Her blue skin was dotted with small aqua scales that shone themselves in the light. The Merpeople of Quichalim has never been much for ornamentation, being spectacular themselves, as could be seen in her simple, tight, white swimsuit like outfit and the thin floor length wrap skirt she wore in addition. Like all Mer, she wore no shoes at any times. She was clearly arguing with Ignatius at the moment, her gills flaring, her fins extending for mere moments, and the small ridge on top of her head stiffening shortly, proving she was quite irritated, likely about something the Imperator cared little for, as usual.

Lastly, the Imperator turned and looked behind him, until he found the slowly approaching Lord Drusus Mɑlveyn of Corolin. In many ways House Mɑlveyn was both the most important and most powerful of the three great houses, as it was the one with the most fertile agricultural lands and most plentiful fisheries, and thus fed much fo the rest of the slowly declining empire. The Osprey beastlings originally came from this very land the three had come to, explaining their family name which was quite difficult for most Thalassians to pronounce. Because of this, the house had become colloquially known as House Malice, a nickname they never tried hard to discourage, instead choosing to leverage a reputation not wholly earned to their advantage.

The Osprey Beastling was wearing very little, his lack of shirt allowing his wings to stretch and display their glory. What he was wearing, however, was a long and light pair of white pants, which billowed lightly as the wind swept through the deck again. His feet were similarly bare to Kahurangi’s, though Aetius was well aware the man had his own pair of dress sandals, if chose to wear them, which he would likely not. As he extended his arms to the group with a smile, the wind blew his blonde hair slightly out of shape, causing a remarkable effect as the sun shined through it from the back. “Come, my Lords, surely we are almost there. Should we not present a united front to both the other enlightened and barbaric nations? We hardly need them questioning our authority!”

“All well and good, Drusus,” Lord Ignatius replied. “But we must first have a unified front to present, and the Grand Lady refuses to see reason! Surely the faith is important, but in the modern age, temporal problems are solved by industrial might, not religious fervor!” as the man spoke he emphasized more with his arms and hands, a habit one learned to mostly ignore surprisingly quickly.

For her part, Kahurangi’s gills flared lightly again. “It is the lessening of the faith that has led to such issues as the problems we are presented with from the despicable Ranstreimosi terrorists! If the faith was stronger among our citizens, they would be better able to resist the temptation of their despicable vice peddlers and more amenable to ending the terrorists reign once and for all!”

“Enough,” Imperator Aetius interjected with a small wave of his hand as both Ignatius and Drusus began their own rebuttals. “We all want the rebellious and violent separatists in Ranstreimos disavowed, and we may need to make concessions to achieve that goal,” at this he gave a pointed look to Ignatius and Kahurangi, “all of us. But the fact of the matter is, we are not currently strong enough to enforce our demands any other way. I am loathe to begin opening our culture to the barbarians as you are, Lady Kahurangi, but we must trade with them to support our economy and industry, so we may strike at the murderers and drug smugglers. Once that is done we can take the holy sword back to the lost provinces and return the favor they have done our ancestors,” The Imperator finished, getting a couple of grunts and one nod from Drusus. “But either way, we are very nearly there, and if we present them with a squabbling mess immediately on arriving we will lose before we begin to play, and I have come to win.”
Glorious Sea Romans with Merpeople and Beastlings

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Civil Rights Lovefest

Postby Legokiller » Tue Mar 12, 2019 7:44 am

Big Bird One, Glorelheim, Crystal Spires

In the southernmost lands, Silverdale was a rich nation of tolerance and love from its establish queen for out most of its life. For many ponies, the prosperity of trade and friendships with other nations like Dyste, exploration, and overcoming obstacles were a success. Yet for all its glory, the love of the mother of the nation vanished and nation descended into chaos of a civil war. After a long and gruesome battle against the Fascist forces of the Frozen Throne and the many pretenders to the crown, the rebellious republican won and reformed Silverdale into a new age. Inspired by the democratic traditions of the Golden Herds and the founders of the state, the United States of Silverdale is formed to represent the creatures who enjoy its liberties, social programs, and democratic practices. Yet in the recent past administrations, a few grew disenfranchised with the system and wished to change the nation.

The winds of winter howled and the gazing eyes of evil posed its eyes on Silverdale. To please the masses with a strong and active leadership, the administration must defy those who seek the republic’s end. One act of defiance was made in the travel towards the Mystrian Prosperity Convention. . .

Big Bird One, the choice for every President since the turn of the millenium, was a prime and iconic plane made by the proud engineers of the country. It was so good that Fluffykins couldn’t bear to see the right side’s wing marked by the horrific crunch of a goddamn megashark. There was even a tooth embedded in the wing for Luna’s sake! For such a risk in the fastest route possible, there was too much ocean to cover. Those legendary megasharks were said to be there and somehow leap into the clouds to attack birds and airplanes. The only saving grace from this horrific event is that the mega shark tooth itself should be a good present for someone in the Convention. Possibly Calisté, or Tyroth.

As the suited orange pegasi started to exit first from Big Bird One and climbed down the staircase, a plump bee woman who was two and a half feet waited for the delegation. Jinx Beeworth found herself baffled that the legends of the killer mega sharks were true. Her golden eyes behold her buggy glasses were fixated at the crew of ponies and a Cystalfolk removing the tooth out of the wing. Jinx Beeworth almost forgot that she needed to keep focus and brush her small length yellow and black stripe dress for the president to come over. Her blonde hair was a princess cut on the bangs and ends of her long straight hair. Jinx felt this would be a bit hard, but she was determined to make sure the convention was a massive success for the Silverdalean side.

Fluffykins wiped her nose as the shock of the dry season in comparison of what the current season in Silverdale is like. The black suited pony with a red tie against her white shirt had to deal with this small inconvenience to be exact. Still, Fluffykins, after her experience of the shark attack, asked her fellow skimpy dressed maid dragon elf with a black bob hair to fix up her bright candy red mane into a ponytail for this long awaited convention. The President of Silverdale walked down the pavement with her busty human secretary and equally busty elf maid to meet with Jinx.

“Welcome to Crystal Spires Madam President.” Jinx gave a politeful bow as she made a bashful smile. “I-I’m glad that your flight is able to arrive on schedule.”

“Yes.” Fluffykins whip her hair a bit. “I do reward the success and survival by that matter by the talented captain Owen.”

“Aye!” The maid named Mishera Peachheart chirped up. “Although given the size, it totally looked like a juvenile shark. Plus it didn’t have the strength to chomp us down!”

Fluffykins lowered her eyes as she gave out a sigh of dismay. “That doesn’t help you know.”

For the imposing large and tall ice pony who clopped down the staircase, the shark attack wasn’t the only one she experienced. Princess Snow kept her mouth silent about it, since the moment in her loyal bodyguard’s private jet would simply be a hallucination and failed to deliver the bite. Not to mention… the lands of D'hɑlbrisir were so different, she wasn’t sure where to start with it. Snow prefered the rest of the delegation to handle most of the talking since Snow would be bad at it. The Princess of Ice was here to represent the matters regarding Endless Waste and act as a fortune teller for Silverdale. She knew the rest of the Silverdalean delegation can represent the conptrumery diplomatic policies, its people, and address Silverdale on a better angle.

For the outsiders and press, they could see a living ice alicorn who magically created a glimmering light Ice dress that shines like a diamond and seemingly wouldn’t melt by the dry climate of the land. Snow had a flowing snow white long hair with a cut at her bangs, and strips of icy blue, and a spiraling large tail. As her cutie mark of a bluish Snowflake suggests she is a master of ice magic, and yet fated by the path of a winter oracle due to her final revaluation of a transformation to an ice pony. After her recent reputation in this form, Snow felt a little conformable to come around in these events.

Or so she thought as Jinx flew up to Snow. The bee woman placed her hand on her chin as she thought carefully. “So you must be Princess Snow huh? I almost mistaken you as an ice pony sculpture. A well crafted and animated one at that.”

“If I stay still for some time, I could.” Snow joked a little.

“Heh, you would indeed. Of course, ordinary beastlings in the Crystal Spires will detect your presence as you’re ripe with a strong magical aura. I’ll clarify any mistakes if you been labelled as an Ice Golem or animated Ice Statue during your visit Miss Snow.” Jinx replied.

“I see . . .” Princess Snow slowly nodded. She thought about actual Ice Golems that were in the shape of alicorns, but those would be rather deceitful. Best not to use them.

“Nay Ambassador Beeworth.” Fluffykins stepped in. “They would tell its a strong magical presence due to the permanent Ice Body Spell on Snow. Which either way, expect a large amount of eyes on us.” Fluffykins said.
Silverdale's Factbook! Poi! Silverdale News Thread
<Maven>Legokiller's an original "G" with mirrors and changelings before it was cool <AnimeQuote> Taiga Aisaka is Gandhi.

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Founded: Oct 10, 2015
Corrupt Dictatorship

Postby Rintyar » Thu Mar 14, 2019 8:38 pm

Kaimara was Rintyar and Ranstreimos. This was a mentality she wanted to destroy for the past few hundred years, one of the few curses of her immortality that began to strike her. When she sought to retire, it seemed the people wanted her back in control. When she handed the reigns to another soul, the people still sought to see her openly involved in the safekeeping of Rintyar. She was an Empress who was kept chained to the throne, a fact that had become increasingly horrid to her. The greatest stateswoman in Rintyari history was damned by both her devotion to the Shadow Goddess and her dedication to keeping Rintyar safe and prosperous for her people.

When Rintyar and Ranstreimos were unified under her tribe, it was a moment of pride. Her legacy, her family's future, and the future of all the people of the Goddess, were now in her safe keeping. A small bout with immortality later and now she couldn't help but feel like the world revolved around her far too much for her liking.

Kaimara wore a black, sparkling dress, leather sandals adorned with emeralds dating back to the age of Jaraka on her feet alongside obsidian arm and leg bands, the stones surrounding the black bands smoothed inwards to make sure the Empress wouldn’t cut herself upon them. Her taut, muscular legs had little covering them as such, the bottom of a dress consciously made to leave them quite exposed while still covering up her more private articles. Her own shoulders were totally exposed, and her impress, buxom body allowed to shine through. As with all Raizari, a tail dragged behind her, covered completely in dull grey scales, rather surprisingly benign and basic for a Raizari monarch, a few scales dotting her cheeks and nose, as well as her feet, but otherwise mostly covered in lighter, if rather pale, greenish skin not unlike a human, the drab complexion of her skin a small downside to her otherwise beautiful, impressive physique.

Accompanying her onboard another airship, the President of Ranstreimos certainly felt covered underneath the Empress’ shadow. Where she was born of shadow, she felt as if she was surrounded by it for all her political career. Surrounded only by followers of Kelvinas at the moment, the president could not help but sigh, even as she attempted to relax herself. The Jakeel was wearing a loose, traditional garb, her dress leaving her ‘hips’ slightly exposed but leaving a long cover over her lower half, long enough to appear impressive but not make movement overly difficult or sag on the floor. The seam line was short enough enough to show off some of her bosom and leave her shoulders exposed, rather light despite its illustrious nature, a beautiful white and red silk with golden trimmings.

Both women flew different craft, reflecting the different powers of Rintyar and Ranstreimos. Both were flying, metallic things, created from the arcane powers of the world itself. Tied only tangentially to the world as such, they nonetheless displayed all of the traits one might come to expect from Ranstreimosi and Rintyari shipmasters.

Kaimara's vessel was a sleek, custom design, funded by the Nictores tribe as both a none expenses spared symbol of power for their greatest leader as well as the perfection of both luxury and security. Any commodity a political leader could possibly ask for was accounted for. Enough room for Kaimara's direct family and advisors was made, the banners of both House Nictores and the Queendom of Rintyar adorned the hull of the vessel, and security onboard was such that even the greatest assassins would find getting to Kaimara a difficult task, assuming they could take on the warrior-queen herself.

By contrast, her Ranstreimosi counterpart flew in ‘merely’ a heavily modified version of what was ostensibly one of the most common commercial airliner designs for the past few decades. Even with significant internal modifications, it was still recognizably plain and simple, merely bearing the sigil of the State of Ranstreimos. Smooth and birdlike in design, the base model was ultimately designed to both be fashionable and safe looking while also being as economical and aerodynamically efficient as possible.

Flanking these two vessels were proper military gunships, fast little things with plenty of weapons loaded and prepared for any complications in a perilous world. This was no longer an age of heroism, so much as one of unnecessary violence and ineptitude, leading to even peaceful journeys being protected with these diminutive but powerful ships.

Regardless, hundreds of years of improvements and technological advance earned Kaimara and her Ranstreimosi colleague a thankfully brief tip, brief enough that Kaimara did not feel the need to bring too many people as part of her entourage. At her side would only be an Ambassador, the rest of her tribe and any politicians kept away from the situation lest they twist it for their own ambitions. She could only hope that her partner in Ranstreimos had done the same. Despite her increasing distaste in power, she frequently found herself wary to share it, lest the more uncouth nature of a politician reveal itself, a fact that nonetheless only furthered her irritation.

When the airships finally made their destination, Kaimara could not help but sigh. She could only hope it was a quick thing to better normalize trade, something she wouldn’t have to involve herself in for very long.

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Great Corneria
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Founded: Jan 20, 2014

Postby Great Corneria » Sun Mar 17, 2019 4:53 pm

Cornerian Airship Carbuncle

There was once a time when Corneria was among the great powers of Mystria. When they were the Empire of Great Corneria, there seemed to be nothing they couldn’t accomplish under the rule of their Great Emperor Garland, who united the four provinces, with only the rebellious Dystans dissenting. However, that was far in the past; several Mystrian nations conspired to dissolve the great lands, under the plans of the rebel leader Tyroth, and the land was once again divided in four. While the individual provinces still did deals in Mystria, it was clear that they were never going to be a player on the world stage unless something changed…

Arylon Trilary was the Chancellor of what remained of Corneria, but he hoped that the other members of the delegation would help change that. Like any good son of the heartland, he was trained at youth at swordplay, and spent his youth as a mercenary, fighting off monsters and bandits. Such a person didn’t seem like the type to eventually become the de facto head of a nation, but reputation and strength went a long way in these lands. Sweeping his red hair aside, the man looked aside at the other provinces’ delegates. He didn’t have much experience with dealing with beastlings, but he admitted that was perhaps the best way to show that things have changed in the land. He just wished that Melmond’s badger would shut up already!

“Ah tell ye, laddies - ach, and lassies,” the Mustelid acknowledged the one female delegate, the Frogling from Onrac wearing the white hooded robe, contrasted his own blue robe and pointed hat, a brown tail poking from the backside. “Ah don’t know much ‘boot these here Speerans, but tha lands seem quite lovely. Do ye think they’ll be expectin’ us?”

“Why wouldn’t they, Regar?” The orange foxkin in the snazzy red adventurer’s gear tipped his hat as he peered from the airship’s window, “I mean, they did offer us to come. At least the human, but they aren’t gonna let the rest of these lands out, right?”

“W-well, I would hope not, Mr. Axworthy,” the Frogling was a bit scared of heights, so she tried her best to avoid looking over the side. “B-but I hope they don’t have too negative an opinion of us…”

“C’mon, call me Jeril, Milah. It’s not too old to be called that.” The fox from Gaia flashed a smile at his more timid ally. “Anyways, it’s not like anybody’s still around from those times anyways, aside from the Dystans.”

“Don’t be daft, laddie, aren’t they tha ones we must be tha most careful fer!” Regar shook his head, though it was hard to tell with the hat casting a shadow over his face. “They might still hold a grudge against our ken, the bloody dragons…”

“Or perhaps,” Arylon cut off the Mustelid, “We see if we can gain some allies there to support our unification. The Dystans in the past have been quite adamant about us not being one nation, and they send their Glaristant minions to try and impose their will on us, but we’ve survived regardless of their methods.” He didn’t really know the other three leaders that well - none of them knew each other, really - but at this point they were the best chance each other had in making a mark in Mystria again. As the ship landed, he knew exactly what his goals were for the conference. But would the others align with him on this, or were they planning their own goals? He would have to see…

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Democratic Socialists

Postby Kouralia » Mon Mar 18, 2019 4:02 pm

Vithren Valdur Hotel, Glorelheim, The Beastling States of the Crystal Spires

The Crown had taken this initiative seriously, at least as much as it did any foreigner’s endeavours, and it today it would show. It had been years since a Kouralian delegation had been the size and complexity that today’s was - indeed, the entire Vithern Valdur hotel had been booked by the Legatine Justiciary for the purpose of housing their staff. A veritable horde of Adjutant Clerks specialising in diplomacy, laws domestic and international, and even the culture of the Kouralians’ fellow guests had descended on the hotel. Of course, some had lucked out and already been posted to the Legatine Chancery in the Spirean capital of Caltris, but for the majority of them it was a long-haul flight from the Kouralian mainland.

That of course said nothing of the Constables who provided security, the clerical staff who would write the reports merely signed by the specialists and even domestic staff for laundry and cleaning of a quality that the local hotelier couldn’t be trusted with. After all, a Princess would be sleeping in their beds and given the left-leaning republicanism and sometimes fanatical inclinations shared by many Spireans it would be most unseemly if she were to be struck down by a cursed pea secreted within the bedding.

As the working day began for a half-hundred feverish clerks and the night relief started to curl up in bed, the impeccably turned out Eyrean Astofæll clicked across the black and white tiles of the Vithren Valdur’s lobby. Clad in an expertly cut, green checked suit with a white button-down and a sapphire necktie, she embodied the near-hivemind propensity for Kouralians to favour bespokely tailored suits over the more flowing attire of many other representatives. As she approached the elevators, Eyrean nodded a greeting to the carbine-toting Watchman who stood to attention by the panel. With a nod of acknowledgement, the young man’s gloved hand darted out and tapped the call button so that the doors opened and let Elena Campbell’s private secretary into the elevator car without having to slow her stride.

Efficiency, precision, and an impressive attention to detail, everything had to conform to that vision: even that which the ever-present press corps would never see.

Eyrean hit the button for the most exquisite apartments on the top floor and gritted her teeth as a tinny rendition of dated Spirean music began to play. Like the diplomats and clerks, she had been at the hotel for a week before the delegates had actually arrived, and the repetitive chords were beginning to grate on the Kouralian’s nerves.

That was a small price to pay however, to make sure that everything was perfect. As head of the Household of Elena Campbell, it ultimately fell to her to see that the royal’s first truly meaningful foreign engagement went off without a hitch: even if the princess would be playing fourth fiddle to the politicians and career diplomats who, technically at least, were her assistants.

It had been only yesterday that the actual delegation had landed in D’halbrisir. First an immense jet of the National Air Force depositing sleek, armoured four-by-fours - so well turned out that they looked as if they had been plucked from velvet-lined presentation cases rather than the utilitarian interior of the cargo airlifter. A few hours later a purpura-liveried executive jet of the Crown Communications Air Group had swept into Glorelheim Aeroharbour, escorted by a flight of angular and alienesque fighter aircraft.

Of course, before anyone could consider getting close to those who travelled on the planes - whether for photographs or a more nefarious purpose - the expertly drilled Crown Estates Watch had pulled alongside with those same obsidian and purpura cars. Anyone hoping to put a camera to the motorcars’ windows would then be disappointed, as the convoy quickly left to take the Kouralian party to the Vithren Valdur - where meetings, study, and much consumption of greasy takeaway food had continued throughout the night.

Thinking back to the harassed look on the chief Watchman’s face yesterday as he sat in the control hub downstairs, Eyrean couldn’t help but smile. Usually so unflappable, the close protection commander could only do so much planning against the master mages, house-dwarfing megafauna, and immortal interstellar cyberskeletons that were commonplace in the Beastling States of the Crystal Spires. The Necrons - those selfsame cyberskeletons who heralded from the Great Civilisation of the C’tan - shouldn’t be a threat at least, given the Spireans had engaged them specifically to provide security for the event. The C’tani were known to be honourable, restrained and respectable, and it was certainly not in the mind of the Kouralians to cause trouble for the friends past, present and future who would treat with one another in the coming days. Nevertheless, it would certainly have pained the Watch Captain to have to sign off an operational order which admitted that, were the Necrons to demonstrate their emotionless and relentless talent for slaughter, there was nothing the Crown Estates Watch’s Protection Command could do to stop them. Such was life when War Plan Grey overreached into diplomatic sandwich parties.

Moments later the doors of the elevator bing’d open and Eyrean continued to the Princess’ room, passing another armed Watchwoman and, after a knock and a respectful pause, the Private Secretary to the Crown Princess of Kouralia entered.

The suite was as expansive as its nightly rate was expensive, continuing the decorative theme of repeating geometric shapes. As soon as she passed the doorway, Eyrean found herself in a lounge entirely separate to the bedchamber and bathroom of the suite, the neutral creams of the walls accented by designs of gold leaf and obsidian trim. Sofas and side tables were dotted about while a set of large cushioned stools congregated beneath the arched windows at the far end of the room so one could recline in the sun to socialise. The theme of simple geometric patterning continued: from the black and white repeating mosaic design that worked its way across the floor, to the artwork hung on the walls, and even the sweeping archway that stretched across half a wall and surmounted a brilliant white stone fireplace. Given the tropical climate the coals were cold, leaving much of the heat in the room to come from the golden rays of sunlight that burst through the arched windows and cast shadowy patterns across the floor in a mimicry of the exquisite decorative privacy screens.

Spread throughout the room was a small party of attendants to Elena - here a diplomat who had been advising her on foreign custom, there a clerk who had been assisting the Princess with more personal matters - attire, hair, preparation of the customary gift and the like. Not that Elena needed much assistance in that regard, given the Kouralian royal was a commissioned professional soldier and as much a Warrior-Princess as the internationally renowned - and Spirean abhored - Rheya of Leyfield. Without a doubt though, calling her a Warrior- Princess would earn an earful from her on the distinctions between that amateurish accolade and her profession: soldiering.

Elena Atalanta Eunomya Campbell stood by the window, taking advantage of the natural light to give the Kouralian national gift a final once over in its velvet-lined walnut and oak presentation case. Dressed in what was unusually civilian attire, the young Kouralian wore deep midnight blue trousers and a matching tailless spencer coatee, both of which were impeccably tailored and to a connoisseur were clearly of the highest quality. Under this, the carefully selected ‘Spirean Theme’ was completed with a collarless black silk button-up matched to a black leather belt tied off in the Kouralian fashion and left to sit loose on the thigh, and black monkstrap flats - both of which had golden Aurychalchen buckles.

Walking over, Eyrean smiled and cast her eyes over the gift again. “It is lovely: restored beautifully as if new - not that it was ever battered. I am sure Caliste will appreciate such a personal touch to our national gift.” When she turned to look up at Elena, for a split second she thought there was a touch of sadness in the Princess’ eyes as she closed the presentation case.

“I don’t doubt it, I just can’t help but think of the years gone by and the times it got me through.” Elena said before shaking her head slightly and turning to cast her eyes down at Eyrean - and truly it was down that her gaze fell. The Crown Princess was broad shouldered and stood slightly above average for a Kouralian woman - a hair over six foot, while Eyrean was practically average height for one of Kouralia’s closest allies - the Malgraveans. To try and combat this the Private Secretary had donned, as she often did, heeled brogues, but even then they could only add a few inches to her height.

“How is the Captain?” Elena continued, before taking the gift’s presentation case from her aide. “Are the others ready to leave? Are they ready to begin these talks?” . The Princess half turned to the windows and looked out, as if expecting something to be waiting for her.

“Almost, Elena.” Eyrean said calmly, reaching out to place a hand on her charge’s arm. “We should depart for the lobby now, but remember that all eyes need not be on you. The Captain, the Justiciar, the Legate - they will handle the matters of state. You represent the Crown, yes: but in this matter, limit yourself to charming enemies to friends and friends to even closer ones.

“I am sure that there are people at the conference who would enjoy a visit to the Steelmarket Rise, or to the Crown Estates.” She said, before taking the boxed gift from Elena and gesturing for the princess to sit. According to custom,, Eyrean paused a moment before following suit, beckoning for an attendant to bring over the plate of prepared food. It was only a few minutes of casual conversation, but as the clock’s hands approached the hour the Princess visibly relaxed under the calming influence of her friend, and was significantly cheered there came a solitary knock at the door.

This time no one entered, but the Princess and her Secretary’s gazes met and Eyrean nodded. “We should be going now, my lady.” She said, rising and taking hold of the gift box. By the time she had reached the door, Elena was close behind her, having composed herself to meet the challenge.

Beyond the door to the suite stood another Kouralian, this one a Watchman in a pale linen suit that was, while not tailored for a gentleman, designed to minimise the bulges made by the appointments of office secured across his body. He nodded a greeting as soon as the door opened, “Madam Secretary, Your Highness. The Crown Captain is ready and his party approaches the ground floor.”

“Watchmaster.” Eyrean said with a slight incline of her head before immediately walking past him. She didn’t even consider trying to pass the lower-status man the case because without a doubt he would refuse to take it. So seriously would they take their protection mission that, short of a direct order from their Queen, it would be a dismissable offence for one to tie their hands up with mere luggage.

A few minutes later the four passed through the lobby which, aside from the uniformed Watchmen on duty, was practically empty. A slender, suited man sat against one of the columns that surrounded the shimmering cascade of crystal hanging from the central rotunda’s dome. Sir Osƿynn Byraþenræ was notionally there to serve the wishes of the Crown but, as the Justiciar of State for Overseas Affairs, he was the chief diplomat of Kouralia and it would be predominantly up to him to provide substance to any charm offensive from the Crown Princess.

“Highness.” He said curtly without raising his eyes from where they were glued to the display of a sleek tablet.

“Sir Osƿynn,” Elena replied, nodding a greeting to the Justiciar as her party came to a stop by him. “I trust you slept well?”

Despite the question being clearly heard, Sir Osƿynn’s eyes barely moved as he sat and tapped at the tablet a few times before snapping his fingers and rising. Immediately another aide stepped forward and took the computer from the Justiciar, sliding it into a leather-bound case before retreating again into the background. Having done this, Sir Osƿynn quickly adjusted his cuffs while allowing his gaze to wander over the Princess’ attire for faux pas and, judging from previous events at the palace, taking in her figure as well .

“It was quite satisfactory, my lady.” He replied eventually, his voice replete with a facade of politeness but entirely absent of any deferential tone. “I’m more than ready for the coming day, are you?” He asked before continuing before any answer could be given. “This is a serious undertaking for Kouralia here in D'hɑlbrisir,” He said, taking care to pronounce the name of their hosts as well as he could with his patrician Heartlands accent. “We are not in your much-beloved Malgrave here; this is not an opportunity to mount a horseback parade, show off your guns, or be caught having a walkabout in Epping in… Casual-wear.”

His distaste was almost palatable as it dripped from the last word, though the Justiciar was interrupted by a cough before he could continue.

“I think you will find, Sir Justiciar, that Her Highness has well prepared for this.” Eyrean said as she stepped forward, sparing the Princess the need to dignify it with a response. “And has spent six months of her career so far in the Beastling States meeting, protecting, and speaking with the common people of this country.

“The Spirean ruling classes are not so self-absorbed that they are a different people to those that they serve, and hopefully her deployment here with the International Assistance Forces will aid her as much as her reputation of Protector of Ascension does in the Malgrave.

“Now, if you don’t mind, I do believe we have places to be.” She concluded tersely, shooting a cold look towards him as double doors at the side of the atrium opened and the Crown Captain of Justiciars entered.

Tall and broad, the dark-skinned man was not merely physically the very epitome of a Kouralian, but projected the easy confidence of the bella figura through every fibre of his being. On the one hand he wore an exquisite formal maroon suit, ‘merely’ two-piece, but as he walked his palm rested on his hip, with his thumb hooked casually through the belt. The set of his shoulders and purpose to his stride were almost those of a fighter or a warrior entering the ring, but an easy smile played across his lips and, unlike that which Sir Osƿynn affected when his superior entered the room, the warmth of the Captain’s extended to his eyes.

Before anyone could react to his arrival the noise in the atrium trebled as the doors opened yet further and at least ten other Kouralians followed him through a half-step behind, a few almost squeezing themselves against the frame to overtake others in their party and get closer to the man who headed the Kouralian State. Nothing was truly distinct, but their hubub was incessant. Here a snatch of “...Exchequer would like…”, there a half a query: “...has he given consideration to…”.

Perhaps originally the gaggle of retainers and aides had been a carefully arranged formation to funnel the most important information to the front while stopping asinine or insignificant details from even registering, but that time was long lost: probably some time in the lift where it had had to turn itself around on the spot. Now everyone jostled to get their department’s concerns into the consciousness of the Crown’s chief Justiciar before he left for the day’s work: whether it be the poor sales of textile goods to Rohanians, or the trials and tribulations of Æhrycredan missionaries spreading the word in the Absolute Royal Federation.

“Your Highness, Mr Byraþenræ!” Sir Barynel called jovially, his voice cutting through the chatter and silencing it instantly. “Might I say how radiant you look lady Campbell!” He added as he swept straight in and clapped the Justiciar for Overseas on the back. “I should think that we are all ready to be guided by our friends now: are we not, Osƿynn?” He asked.

“Well, our position is as you have said, one o-”

“Indeed!” The Crown Captain said, stepping past the Justiciar and turning back to face the arrayed army of aides and his fellow dignitaries. “Ladies and Gentlemen, these next few days can be historic or forgotten: the choice is up to us. We are not here to force anything upon our neighbours, for ours is a contented people, seeking not to overextend the Legions and Fleets of the Crown on irrelevancies. We come here to better ourselves, to better our friends, and to open our people and our nation to the world.

“Not twenty years ago Kouralia was a battleground as the Republic sought to keep its iron fisted grip on the nation, but we cast it off and returned the sacred Crown to Kouralia. Half a century it had languished in exile: half a century! Mark my words: as pleasant as Menelmacar is, for the rightful government of this nation to have been deposed and forced to seek shelter there was an exile and a stain on the tapestry of our history.” As he spoke, Sir Barynel began to turn on the spot and pace a few steps to one side then the other.

“That tapestry is a rich and a long one, no matter the age of some. The Great Civilisation may stand here, their pedestal built by a billion years of labour, but the Malgrave has been here for less than one year to every twenty-five of ours. We should neither be overawed by the eons-forged ascendency of one nor shamed by the meteoric advancement of the other. Our Senate of Kurton has sat for over two thousand seven hundred years, and we must strive ever onward to advance ourselves as we did in centuries past before the August Father darkened our our halls and our hearts.

“Brotherhood, companionship, and go-forwardness: these are the values that will carry us to the stars, and our honour will take us beyond the pitfalls that befell our contemporaries. Secrets, lies, and shadows: that is what they dealt in, and now a throne lies vacant and an Empire sundered.

“These will not take us.” He said, stopping the slow pacing and turning again to face his audience, meeting the eyes of his companions. “We are Kouralians, and Honour and Justice are our watchwords. We will build ever higher and ever further, and we will do it higher and further than any Kouralian has dreamed before. We will progress not for the mere sake of progress, and not to establish domain upon those different to ourselves; we will progress to build a brighter Kouralia for Kouralia’s children, and a brighter world for the world’s children.

“And this starts today: we will welcome all that is good and shun all that is dishonourable in thought and deed, and lay the foundations of greatness.”

Finished, the Crown Captain allowed a moment’s applause before hushing it with a gentle wave of his hands. A few minutes of less grandiose discussion of specifics later and, with confirmation that the cars were ready outside, the Kouralians found themselves leaving the Vithren Valdur.

The exterior was simple in both shape and colour, like the interior. As a whole, the building was a simple block of white stone with a large green dome over the central rotunda and a tower to the side. Setting the building back from even the drop-off area between it and the road, was a large fanlike spread of steps of pale stone that matched the monolithic walls. Seeing that it would probably be easy for journalists to discover where the Kouralian delegation was, they had opted to eschew even the slightest of subtleties. Two uniformed Kouralian Watchmen in open-collar, formal blue tunics and berets stood beside the simple archway that surmounted the doors. Polished brown-leather rifle-belts supported the leather pouches of ammunition and other appointments, though the carbines cradles in their arms looked far from ceremonial.

Further on, at the bottom of the steps, stood another pair of uniformed Watchkeepers who were similarly armed. Between them the five obsidian and purpura four-by-fours of the Kouralian motorcade waited. Two were clearly far more expensive than the others, with bespoke interiors to ferry the delegates about in luxury. The other three were a different model of car - far less expensive, but with similar performance, and would carry both a mobile security team and a small selection of aides to the conference centre. Anyone else would have transport arranged, but would not be important enough to travel in style.

As they stepped out of the doors, Eyrean gently brushed Elena’s arm and smiled reassuringly as the young Princess passed. “You’ll do fine.” She mouthed, before settling in to stand by the doors. It was clear from Elena’s weak smile back that her nerves had returned, which concerned her secretary.

Princess and decorated combat veteran though she might be, Elena was still a young woman whose childhood had been spent dodging the blades of assassins proclaiming to serve ‘the Republican ideal’. As warped as their ideology was, it was hardly unsurprising that the royal would share her people’s ill-informed opinions on Republicanism, and fear it especially so.

Hopefully Elena would be largely among friends here, Eyrean thought as the cars pulled away.

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The Times of Kurton - National News Source
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Mystrian Altea
Posts: 252
Founded: Nov 26, 2011
Compulsory Consumerist State

Postby Mystrian Altea » Fri Mar 22, 2019 6:35 pm

The following post was co-written with The Ctan

The Imperial Palace
The City of Anion in Blessed Idrise
The 5th Year of the Reign of Palanedhel the Wise

The Hall of Heroes was a bright structure, and people flocked to it, walking across floors of cedar and pale limestone trimmed in gold, from far lands to behold the names of those who had saved the lands of the Myst Continent in ages past. Within its high chamber there was weeping and laughter at once, as those who had come to visit the place came for very different reasons, some came to behold the names of parents, loved ones, children even, engraved on walls of pale stone lit by bright sunlight that streamed through the high windows of tinted glass, dappling the light in the great chamber like a forest.

The old redstone monument had been restored and expanded, its old roof dismantled joist by slat, the same lead re-used on its new structure, as the building had been expanded and incorporated layers that had been hidden before, a fitting national monument to the ambitions of those who had ordered its reconstruction, and the people like those who had worked with them, who had worked out the details.

The work was all but complete, ceiling bosses and small finials on the external surfaces, capstones of architraves built within the areas that led to the wider palace around it were still being altered or restored. Generations of heroes erased by being overbuilt had been exhibited in the carved stone and space was left, five times that that had been inscribed before, for new names.

The occupiers could truly boast that no one did monumental architecture with their flair, from the graceful to the monumental, and the Hall’s original entrances had been replicated or reinstated where possible, giving the monument an open-front with door-wards of the Guardians of Truth as prominent as the burnished forms of the necrons who also occupied the space.

Five years ago, the place had been a monument that had required lengthy time to access, now, there was far more access, for much of the Hall of Heroes was a museum, though it still held a certain state role. Toward one end of the chamber there sat the vast crystalline pillar of the Ruby Throne, that some said was a Mysidian paling crystal, the first of its kind, held by kintsugi golden joinery from when it had been shattered in ages past, long before being stolen and turned into the symbol of the Altean state.

Surrounded by low velvet ropes, it, and the book of knowledge and law that the Regent had installed beside it, said to be a relic of the strange foreign god Fornt by some, Serion by others, the stranger foreign god Thoth by yet others, enclosed in the same space but open for perusal, it answered any question on lore and history put to it by the reader and could bring to the faulds of its pages any text of law desired, as though it had a mind of its own. Where it had come from, none said, but many told stories.

Though there were guards in gilded armor with silvery shields, there was little need for them, for the Hall of Heroes was protected by new enchantments, that prevented terrorism - and no few had tried - by turning back any act of violence on the architect of the deed, a sort of primal magical justice that many attributed to the book, or to the workings of the Just God; of course they had also enchanted the throne to prevent any save the Regent from sitting on it; but at least twice a day and often far more, the guards had to chase a rascal who thought to abscond with the book.

Annalise Katra still walked through the hall on her rounds of the palace structure, like all else, it was a symbol of her people’s ambitions here, to expand, to open unto all, to reveal hidden depths and graces, and to bring the law. Syrian Martell, the Son of Bloodstained Tyrus Messandre took a knee before some of the lit lanterns and candles and illuminated one with a violet candleholder. He let a single touch of rosewood oil touch one of the reliefs meant to offer homage to the fallen heroes that died in the battlefield defending Blessed Altea. His head was bowed in respect, and he then got up from his knees and he stared at Annalise with a furrowed brow. The Prince was still dressed in finery and his deep blue eyes were narrowing as a single brow arched. His peach colored skin began to slightly pale visibly. He quickly got up from his knee, and readjusted his his sleeve as he put his hands on his hips.

“Found something interesting did you?” His voice sounded as it usually did, a touch of bravado with a booming undertone. “I take it, the Palace and the Halls have not ceased to bore you?”

She looked at him, kind eyes regarding him with a long moment of consideration, “They have never bored me,” she said, “I don’t think I’ve been bored since I got here,” she said, and wrapped her arm through his, pulling his hand from his hip and walking along with him, dragging him from petulance physically if the need was demonstrated, “I was thinking how beautiful this must have looked when it was first raised,” she said, “and wondering if we have done it justice in the refurbishment.”

“The tales of the palace of old gave the impression that the entire palace took up the size of the entire city of Anion, but after some nondescript calamity, they had been destroyed, walls ransacked, and none but the inner chambers remained. Though, I half imagine those were merely elfstories. Imagining the City of Anion as anything encased in layer after layer of clear stone is very interesting to imagine, but none has actually found the Mistral Stones that they were said to be made of, They couldn’t even get scholars to agree on the qualities of Mistral. The stories weren’t as funny as listening to the commentarial literature saying ‘This Drivel is UTTERLY FALSE. See my hypothesis is Mistral is some form of metallic structure, not crystal, here’s my proposal as to what the Palace resembled!’ It’s always some other guy telling another off with the same wit and subtle backtalking.” Syrian waved his hands dramatically, “Tradition!”

“Then it’s probably all true,” Lisa said, she seemed to think that anything that celebrated the achievements of the distant past was substantially correct, at least as regarded Mystria, and her credulousness to the achievements of the ancients seemed to be perverse given that she was generally wholly rational, “But I meant in the last few millennia,” she said, “when this was where people came to hide from the monsters, behind those doors there,” she pointed with two fingers, “may we see no such times,” an aphorism.

“As always, let’s always hope there will never be a need, but I have a hard time imagining the giant crystal towers with metal walls, and I have an even harder time imagining what would make such a structure fall. Not even a nuclear weapon would be able to make such a structure fall, so they say. They didn’t have a consensus, but what could be worse than a nuclear weapon?” Syrian asked with an expression that was coy, almost challenging them to give a plausible example that would happen in Altea.

“There are so many examples,” she said, “but you have been to Vinyatirion,” she said, “that is not that dissimilar,” she said, “the real thing that is astounding is the depth of the erasure,” she said, “but that will be answered by consensus in time, I am sure,” she said, she wasn’t interested in weapons, “How do you feel?” she added.

“Truly? I’ve allergies, it’s the worst mold I’ve had to contend with. The rain has made it worse than usual. I’m usually quicker to get the spore cleaners to come from High Treefolk, but they have been replaced by the Satrapy, and I have no idea to ask for the spore cleaners without offending them. I know I have to, but it’s still something I need to practice. I am not confident about it, so doubly terrible. But I suspect another terrible thing is coming, you have that look in your eyes. What’s happened?”

“Well there’s no reason you cannot have folk from High Treefolk visit you,” she said, “you won’t offend us,” she paused, “but there are plenty in the Satrapy, at least its refuge-cities,” she paused, “Your wife is travelling to the Conference in Glorelheim, and taking Rosalie with her.”

“What? And why on earth am I not going to this so-called conference in the lands of the Beast Queen?” Syrian asked with a frown turning into a sneer. “Rosalie is too young, and Aziane will be needed back home promptly to work on the arrangements for her brother and father.”

“Your wife and daughter are beyond your command,” she said, “They wish to go, and have enough support to claim to be what one might call satraps themselves,” she said, “we are not quite sure which of the ways in the end the administrative structure of the Confederation may fall, but she is, I believe, going to challenge her brother’s claim to Palomecia.”

“The problem is that’s precisely why she should NOT go. She would be in hostile foreign land with our precious daughter and with her brother who carelessly tried to murder Palanedhel the Wise that one time he was just unaware of his father’s intentions. What if he gets them hurt or sick, or what if they are among Republicans who wish to bring harm to them? My family comes first. I want to know why I can’t be by their side or go in their stead.”

“We are providing the security at the conference, they will be as safe there as they would be here,” she said, “there is no cause for concern. I am not sure there is anything you could do to protect them that a necron could not do in your place. They are even better at dying than we are,” she said, “a lot less fuss.”

“You still haven’t explained why I am not going. If it’s an international conference to discuss claims, why am I not going? Or are claims not going to be discussed. Does His Eminence Palanedhel the Wise know and is he going in my stead? If so, tell him to make sure to carry defensive charms and wands. The Westlands are particularly treacherous for their magery. Not as bad as the elves, but they are perhaps maybe second place in their obsession with magery. It’s worrisome, and he should also not be going, but if what you say is true and the Necrons will prioritize protection of My wife, child, and Regent, then I accept. Otherwise, fuck all that hogwash.”

“They will protect all of them,” she said, “we are providing security, so each delegation from Idrise will have their own protection, the Regent will have the Triarch Praetorians, emissaries of the executive council of the Great Civilization, and the others will have their choice of necron tomb-guardians, the Order of Peace, or the Braves of the Queen,” she said, the expectation was that the more monarchistic claimants would prefer the latter, but the difference was not exactly obvious. “Luna will have her own guards, of course,” she said, “but yes, to represent Idrise as a whole we are sending the Regent.”

“Good.” Syrian sighed in relief and also then massaged his temples. “I’ve only just started getting used to him, and as far as I’m concerned if any of you metallic fiends blink, so help me I will cut your balls off.” Syrian began to try and dig through his satchel and pulled out a pin with a golden lion and took the gold and ruby signet ring from his finger. “Give this to His Eminence, I’ve got a few acetaminophen pill bottles to destroy. Stress, stress, STRESS! How do your people do it? Between peasant uprisings against their former lords and trying to rebuild a house of lords with trustworthy people who don’t wish me tarred and feathered, I’m at a loss where to begin trying to gain the respect of the populus. Should I just LET them tar and feather me? I’m seriously at a loss”

“We have considered it,” she said, “they even considered your public execution, you know, when you first surrendered yourself, you may recall the brutalities you experienced in your first few days,” she paused, and looked at him, squeezing his arm, “I am sorry, for my part in that, you know. I truly am.”

“It’s fine, you are absolutely aware I was actually willing to do that if it actually worked. The problem is there ARE people who are Loyal to me who’d be willing to throw themselves at Necrons over and over again. There’s always a chance that it would have made things worse too. So, while I’m kind of glad I’m alive, I’m not sure how to even start pulling such disparate people together. I mean some of them are absolutely disgusting in their practices. Do you know that there’s some people in the depths of the Northern lands that actually break pumpkins and wear it? It’s bizarre. Mind, at least I know of no culture that shits on the ground here. Can’t say the same for some of my western brethren. Weirdos.”

“When you say ‘shits on the ground’ do you mean open defecation,” she asked as they entered the Hall of Heroes Gift Shop, which held everything from tiny replicas of the Hall in pewter, both in its new form, its old one, and it’s form from a thousand years ago, there was an engraver’s where one could get a replica plaque of any of the inscriptions made, and tiny toy ruby throne playsets with little Syrian replicas and little Palanedhel ones too. There were no representations of his father, nor any other monarchs. There were also, more disturbingly, or endearingly, perhaps, plush replicas of him and even his wife, though not his daughter, toy crowns of leaves such as the one the Regent wore, collectable plates, books that replicated the one set beside the throne in miniature, and playsets of some of the most prominent heroes listed; and their companions, surprisingly many of whom were not Tor.

“I mean the trees shit on the ground, and the springs, and they even pollute their excrement filled reservoirs because perhaps the people there are too poor for it to matter. As for the beastmen, I have no idea, we’ve not interacted in a positive way since my father died. Only good thing that came out of it, that.” Syrian shrugged. “Might want to tell your Satraps there to actually account for sanitation, which reminds me, records and records and records of Alienages with nothing but absolute garbage for infrastructure. Who planned these fucking grids?” Syrian grabbed a water bottle from the gift shop and tossed a few crowns at the shop owner. “What I wouldn’t give for a pain reliever.”

“We don’t have any governors in Crystal Spires, they have their own councils, the relationship is quite different,” she said, “but, you do know that the point of Alienages in Old Altea was to be as horrid as possible for the inhabitants, while still allowing their exploitation? It was never really considered,” she said, “a good portion of them drew well water. What manner of painkiller do you desire?”

“One that works… Honestly? Why even. I thought it would be like ethnic enclaves, you know, where I can go and get me some fine elven wines and clothes and where their families and neighbors would all be elven and be free to be elvish and speak their language and do those things elves do… it completely baffles me. Elves are just an example I can think of, but truly all those alienages that were thought to be havens… they’re prisons. I had never seen any of them until I was taken last week by Palanedhel. It was astonishing, and I can’t unsee anything I saw. Half of them were able to recognize me and those that did were either outraged or afraid of me. I suppose love is out of the question, but who can blame them for not. What have my forefathers done?”

“The word you are looking at is ghetto. They are better than they were before, on the whole,” she said, “will ibuprofen work?”

“That might work, I suppose.” He pointed out at the ibuprofen and sighed deeply, “I know what a ghetto is in theory, but it’s not what I had hoped it would mean for the people I see. How do I even begin to fix these gnawing social and fiscal issues. I’ve nothing to rebuild an infrastructure grid due to the goddamned damage I have to fix from the outright outrage. I think maybe they are too enthused by the takeover, but not nearly enough energy for the rebuilding. That’s going to also leave me outright penniless in and for a few ages.”

“Ah,” she said, and looked at him, “You know that you don’t actually get to do any of that, right?” she asked. “We are doing all that. The work is ongoing, and what you see now when you go to the old alienages is far better than there was. Do you know what some of your people were doing to them beforehand?” she asked, and propelled him past a group of tourists, prompting him to wave as she did so.

“No idea, I hardly get out much. Most of the time I went from palace to palace, never really going out. I didn’t have friends, or anyone I could trust. Why would I have any idea what’s going on?” He took the medicine quickly, taking two pills and not really bothering to read the label. “There were also no ways for me to remotely spy on what’s going on, and it goes without saying I don’t want to, that’s creepy.”

“Well, oddly enough, that comes back to what we want to do to you to explain for your fans,” she refused to say worshippers, let alone loyalists, “why you are not going to Crystal Spires with the others. We’re sending you on a Royal Progress, a fact finding mission, with the devoted of Serion.”

“A Royal Progress… and where am I going? And the Devoted as in the Allied Faiths of Serion?” Syrian asked. “Ohboy, the Kashionites will lose their minds if I do that, but I suppose them losing their minds now is better than later, as we have learned, the orderites are not as rational as they claim to be. Horrendous bastards.”

“You are going everywhere,” she said, “to every country within Blessed Idrise. And you are going to meet the people you ancestors have conquered. If you think that the Alienages of Anion are bad, you have yet to see anything. Do you remember when you watched with me through the etheric links as the necrons explored the undercity of Palomecia?”

“It made me ill. I remember it, and how the Orderites ordered the poisoning of water using disposable mercenaries claiming it was to kill the rats. So many of those mercenaries died, so many of the poor living in the Undercity were poisoned and the plague and devastation made a pile of corpses of men, women, and children alike. I saw mothers weeping over the pale bodies of their child, elders covered in sores and discarded like common filth. I remember that day vividly. It’s been awhile since I have cried tears in rage. Such things just… I can’t let it happen over and over again. I need to do something about it. I figure that this tour through Blessed Altea will include the places where Lords will not be home. Was this a tactical decision to have them and I not meet face to face, or to have them be gone while I go visit their homelands so they do not stir agitation when I arrive?”

“Most of the lords aren’t going,” she said, “but they will admit you, you will be accompanied by us, and we will see to it that you are made welcome, we have attainted enough of them, and executed a few, or worse, sent them to exile,” she said, “there was once a lord called Razler,” she said, teasing a little, “he cuts ice on a distant world now, in the bitterness of the ice plains. The only work that will have him. Lord Palomo is currently awaiting trial over the same issues, but they have already taken a sample case to court and handed down a verdict of death for him, he’s only still alive because he may be of use in other prosecutions.”

“The miserable bastard deserves worse. Aziane finally told me what I knew to be true but never desired to be true. I hope she does manage to stake her claim well, so that Rosalie can inherit the lands of Palomecia and to make it as amazing as she is. My daughters are gems among the sands, and I’m very proud of them. I’ve heard that they’ve all been excelling in their courses. Some of the lords have become jealous of the refined beauty of my girls but they are absolutely greed with jealousy over their studies and scores. I think the schooling has improved immensely. Aziane hardly nags me to update education spending anymore.”

“That’s because Palanedhel does it all, well, to be specific the management council does it all,” she said, “they’d not actually let you make any decisions. With the kindest will in the world, you aren’t actually qualified to run a small shop, let alone a country. That’s not your fault,” she said, “but you have a lot to learn if you want to help.”

“Do I look like the kind of lowly sod that would give up creating a world where my kids and her kids can grow up being proud of being who they are? I’m doing my damndest to learn, and so help me if it takes for me to be old and grey, I will do it. I’m many things, but my best worst quality is my stubborn desire to make things work even if it means things go really really badly for me personally. So tell me, what should I do to run a small shop, now I’m curious.” He had a sly cheshire cat grin. “I presume it’s not a miniature me, and a few pills and water bottles.”

“Ask Rosie,” she laughed, “it’s part of the schooling she’s getting this year,” there were ways in which the child at thirteen was far ahead of her parents in knowledge of the worlds, and this was one of them, “but offhand it depends on the shop, you need to balance incomes and expenditures as a start,” she paused, and gave him a smile, “tell me about your schooling? I imagine it featured Tarrrnoth.” She did not seem scared by that entity.

“Honestly, the demonic summoning was perhaps the least grating thing that I was taught, not that I enjoyed it, but it was far easier than learning the fine points of each living ancestor who fucked whom for what and who killed whom and for what, and the various required facets of potion and wand construction, the intricate designs of the various types of architecture and how they do not fall apart, what they are made of and how they are mined. It’s all droned on by a personal instructor who knows ass about anything, but was a close friend of my father who wanted a way to kiss his ass without getting his head cut off. Not a bad choice in the long run, but he died with no heirs, so he really didn’t amount to what he had hoped.”

She shook her head, “But you wanted to know something else. Why we won’t send you to Crystal Spires,” she said.

“Yes, I did want to know. I suppose it is because everyone there wants my head on a pike. Or perhaps because I wouldn’t know how to speak to half of them, or maybe because no one trusts me to not make an ass out of myself in front of the entire regional council?”

“It’s because,” she said, “you did order that invasion of Crystal Spires. It didn’t work out as you intended,” she squeezed the prince’s shoulder, “but perhaps better, in some ways, at least as far as your daughters are concerned.” Palanedhel had legitimated the ‘bastard’ children that the prince had, at once lengthening the chain of succession that was directly under his influence and providing a higher status for them, and even if not, they were still of mixed race, far better prospects awaited them now than had been before. “But you are not a popular man in Crystal Spires, it would be an insult to force them to host you.”

“Fair enough. I understand, and I suppose it also means that the treefolk will also not be going so I suppose proposing sanitary conditions requirements won’t be up for discussion.” Syrian laughed and then put his hand on her shoulder. “Look, I may have made a grave error, but at least I did not succeed. This cannot be said of them, we should try to be sure to contain them as much as we can. They cannot be trusted.” Syrian then lightened his touch. “I mean, it could be worse, there’s always a chance my error could have done more than it did. I will never say I don’t regret it. Thank you for giving me perspective… but again, please, protect my family.”

“They will be protected absolutely,” she said.
The Previous Statement has been edited, and will be edited. That is all.

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Founded: Nov 02, 2013

Postby Alduinium » Sun Mar 24, 2019 11:20 pm

There was a rift in the world, all mortal men and women knew it. It did not matter which realm of Catedonia they hailed from, what weapons they carried or which gods they slaughtered for, the end times were upon them. The Feathered Gods predicted it, many millennia ago, no mere prophecy, so much as legitimate reality, merely waiting to occur. They knew not what it entailed, only that the darkest times now came before.

Back on the mainland, Unholy rifts in Nirn and Oblivion had been felt, not felt since the fall of the Third Era by the eldest magicians in the midst of Keizaal. The Cult’s highest echelons convened in their black temple, Nercomantic spells keeping their presence hidden to all prying eyes. The greatest torturers of all Nirn gathered with under the eyes of their lords, preparing to use the Aedric gifts bestowed to them to punish what they believed to be the next great war between the Daedric Princes and the forces of the Aedra. Internal Police units, already tasked with purging the cities of its most undesirable elements, had found themselves bolstered with renewed authority under their local rulers. Collaborators and spies had snuffed out and spoke of many conspiracies being planned under foot.

All of this only irritatedly told little more than Something Was Coming. Daedric Cultists ranged from near delusionally ecstatic to panicked and fearing the end. Worst of all, the Colonial subjects seemed increasingly low in spirits, their own bizarre beliefs telling only of apocalypse.

With this in mind, it wasn’t hard to see *why* the Cult and the Combined Armies of the Dragon States have radically increased their presence in their own colonies, both to further patrol them for any curious behavior as well as to finally appease the irritating call from Colonial Administrator Ichtaca for more support to fight her insurgencies. Last, and almost certainly least, Ichtaca would finally be given the approval she desired to open relations between the colony of Catedonia itself and the rest of the region it inhabited, long ago closed to the outside world for anything more than the most rudimentary trades. Any potential aid from the lesser nations was unlikely to truly come of much use for the inevitable war to finally end the Second Interregnum.


Ichtaca, for her part, was between a rock and a hard place. Esteemed successor of the beloved King Nokara, Ichtaca’s loyalties were stuck between the corrupting will of the Dov and the genuine adoration and needs of her people. To anger one was to ask for a knife in her back, to anger both was to destroy the entire country of Catedonia in the process. To make matters worse, both now saw doom in the incoming future, though were quite disinterested in discussing it with her. Religious advisors of the Serpents turned into the maddening doomsayers she had always feared to listen to, and the actual Dragon Cult was simply telling her to prepare for some potential threat with no real explanation given.

Regardless, she would fly her utterly monstrous, flying warship into Crystal Spires. Given the events that transpired the past few years, it would be folly on her part not to use the aging, but durable battleship as her transport. Fitted with modernized cannons and fire control systems capable of firing conventional and nuclear shells dozens of kilometers away with eerie accuracy, as well as thousands of tons worth of steel, ebony and moonstone infused composites, all wrapped around to protect the vitals of the vessel from any angle of attack, and enough defensive armaments to shred any potential attacking fighters or their armaments, and the Ebonheart was the safest vessel one could travel in outside of the States themselves.

It wasn’t slow in spite of its immense tonnage either. Fed with an internal Magicka powered reactor consistently outputting enough power to essentially serve as its own miniature star, a steady supply of soul gems kept this beast moving at several dozen knots. The power of Nordic and Dunmeri engineering and millenia old Dwarven research was not to be underestimated even in these older vessels, inefficient as they may be.

In spite of all this protection, Ichtaca was not worried about external threats to her, not when those within the ship were a far greater threat to her wellbeing. Even in her private quarters, a relatively sparse, simple room with more than enough room devoted to it in contrast to the typical bulks the sailors resided in, she could feel the prying eyes of the cult wherever she went. She was master of Catedonia, but a slip of the tongue and she would be answering to the highest priests assigned to the colony. In essence, she had the power to help her people only as much as the Dragon Cult and the nation they empowered deemed it necessary. Too many of her predecessors had either stepped down or met curious ends, and she wasn’t going to join them if she could avoid it.

The Ebonheart bellowed as its aging, powerful engine propelled her, reaching Crystal Spires with little real difficulty. It wouldn’t take long for her to arrive.
Semi-Fascist Totalitarian State run by thousand year old Dragons who say hello by setting each other on fire, nothing too strange or anything.
Mallorea and Riva should resign
The Blaatschapen wrote:This is seriously fucked up beyond words.

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Inoffensive Centrist Democracy

Postby The Ctan » Wed Mar 27, 2019 4:44 pm

The North Calistas period chambers of geometric design were reminiscent of much of the Great Civilization’s home cities, monumental architecture and geometric, regulated design, to Narellan’s eyes the design was overly regular, it tried to imitate life, but not life as it existed, but life in an idealized, platonic form that he found disconcerting. The Spireans claimed to be the children of a god of law, one they claimed permeated all things, but he found that to be deeply disconcerting, the radiative structures were most unlike his own home, which while grandiose, lacked the sense that the buildings were trying to beat one down. He was well aware that the inhabitants of the Great Civilization differed.

The Aligrethans built to time-honoured structures, sharp and square, with the same concepts as the Spireans, though they were influenced even more strongly by their environment, building structures that were wide and monolithic, providing much needed shade against the unobscured light of Re’s pitiless light, a conscious darkness inside homes and larger structures that allowed ones’ eyes to rest. Their buildings used ornate inscriptions in public spaces and adhered to rules that stretched into dim prehistory.

The Necrontyr were similar enough that many said they had laid down the same precepts, their own stone buildings had thicker walls of dressed stone by custom, and their monumental script was different, but many said that they had been a predynastic inscription. The current epoch of the Aligreathans’ history was by comparison the post dynastic, and for more than eighteen dynasties of monarchs between many common aspects, totemic animals and deific statues had been mirrored.

The Quendi built in pale stone and shingled tile, with a style reminiscent of growing things, but their best architecture was often underground, not so the Yldari whose buildings were grown from a living bone-like material. The Seroi built in timber-framed styles and square courtyards for privacy, something that had caught on among others of his own kind. His own people eschewed traditional forms whenever they could, though Narellan dwelt in a residence open to the sides and protected by the edge of the bowl-like valley of the magi on Ilcathelma-Aritane, wide balconies shielded against the sunlight and prevailing winds, and open to allow the scent of the valley to penetrate as far as possible into the nest of workshops and other artefacts.

Narellan Ellraister did not cut an imposing figure, physically he resembled the city elves of Altea, not especially tall, but fine featured, slenderer than most, and more importantly, aged, for he was beyond what the normal span of his people might be, though unlike them he still possessed a more than adequate measure of longevity. He remembered the formation of the Great Civilization, he had been a young man then, five hundred years or more ago.

Still he had a while yet, mages of his sort extended their lives, tearing more years from the fabric of time, though not without cost and not without slowly wearing him of everything in life, there was a time for everything and the time had long passed for his soul to move on. Still, the release of death was something he delayed year after year to continue to serve.

He was an imposing figure despite his slender frame and lack of physical size, he wore his gravitas like a cloak. A halo of bright flecks of crystal drifted with his movements, forming an aura of twenty or so specks of glinting glass. He walked with a staff and his belt jangled with the polished ceramic of spell-tiles.

Much had been made of Airaheri, who was known to lead the magi of the Great Civilization. Narellan was stronger than her, but his days of being willing to travel the wilds and throw houses at malefactors were well past him, instead now he had turned to more socially useful arts. He had assisted in raising the wards over Anion and Drakenspire and any number of cities in Altea, and by comparison the work he did here was simple.

The Great Civilization was not known for its mages, but that was more because they were not socially prominent than that they did not exist. As a culture it had accumulated a great deal of knowledge down the centuries since its founding, particularly as it had rarely stinted in saving mages from persecution, and many such as Narellan had immigrated with their own skills. But being a mage did not confer a special legal status nor did it bring one into a historical leadership group, so there was often less attention paid to them internationally; compared to Crystal Spires, where mages had long dominated public discourse, something Narellan thought was more than a little unhealthy.

His people’s particular practice of magic had allowed any manner of widespread enchantments to be concocted, and as he passed by the keyhole archway to the room within the palace that had been set aside for them, he rolled his shoulders. Somewhere like the Hall of Heroes they would have raised a permanent ward, not so here, for the conference was a short event, and if they had woven the magic into the aether here it would have been stitched into reality itself, beyond which this continent was not an easy place to work and the constant aetheric shifts would change the workings of a spell over time unless it had extensive shielding.

The room they had taken had once been part of the nobles household, but he was unconcerned with its older functions, it served adequately for the needs of himself and his colleagues, a skylight that gave it sight of one of the Paling Spires of the city and enough tables around the pool in the centre of the room that reflected the sky, a blending of elements considered harmonious by the old architects of Glorelheim, for them to work.

Necron guards stood at the doorway, axe-batons within their grasp, broad fronted shields giving them an archaic look, though the shields contained energy barriers that could deflect weapons fire and their blades were capable of carving open battle tanks. They would remain while the conference took place, for Narellan and his companions would neither wake nor stir; more of their kind patrolled the roof and stood below the windows, their weapons were phase-weapons, capable of striking the incorporeal and across dimensions, and they were wound with talismans that would permit them to function, exempting them from the working that was about to be cast.

Every weapon brought onto the conference ground was required to be peace-bonded; for some this was an ornamental thing, as with Narellan. The old man wore a sword even now, a tapering slender blade of black adamantine, somewhat like a rapier but not so removed from combat use, its hilt consisting of a cross-guard; around it was wound a ribbon of sky-blue wafer-paper, and this was bonded with a seal of wax. Within the wax was a printed spell-wafer, perhaps a millimetre thick. The sword could be drawn, certainly, the ribbon would go taut and the seal would break, visibly, the printed wafer within was fragile, but opaque to scanners, and would show tampering even if the seal were remade with heat.

The wafer had another function too, it would limn him for hours in an aura of red, something that would allow any observer to witness if someone had drawn a weapon. Sidearms that could be holstered or sheathed were bound with such peace-bonds. The ribbon Narellan carried was blue, but the gilt-edged green used by conference delegations was more restricted still, and would respond to any overtly harmful or high-level magic with a similar aura of gold, of course, Narellan was in fact casting potent mage-workings, so his need as exceptional.

There were many magical traditions, and for each tradition the experience differed. For Narellan he felt magic as a tidal swell. Once he had likened it to a river or stream, but it was an ocean now. Here, the tide was against him, for Crystal Spires was a strange place, disturbed and muddied. There were aetheric predators by the million and consecrators were a specially trained profession prominent by the million; in itself that was something worth trading with these straight-laced, lawful people, Narellan agreed.

Still, he would rather have attempted to cast on Isasrach, itself already warded, or even on another continent, the working was needed here and he was content to attempt the work. There were others with him, no less sage than he, and one of them, Shayri drew a wide droplet of water from the pool, the surface sinking along the edges by three inches it came to rest at eye level between their seats. Narellan sat down facing the globe of water and he set his staff down, his sword shifted out of the way as he lowered himself into position.

He held out his hand, wrapped with twisted ivory around his forefingers and gleaming with abjurative rings and submerged himself. There were four concentric rings of mages seated in the room, the innermost two, Shayri and Rahenna were closest, one to the west, one to the east, of the pool, they would be the most exposed, but they also performed the chief casting, shaping the enchantment’s chief quality to turn back violence on the aggressor. They defined its power, their art was not dissimilar to that of the Spireans, and the next ring controlled the dimensions of the effect. Narellan sat in the second ring; if the spell collapsed, he was less likely to be instantly killed, though there was still a risk, and as he projected himself within it, he could feel its threads linking him to the life around him.

Two other rings of mages were seated around them, and they were from both his own people and the Spireans, as much of their role was to provide energy more than specific enchantments and they did not need the same specialist training, here they were guarded, because any one of them could disrupt the ritual, with explosive results that would certainly kill everyone present.

The reward for this risk was the over-mantle spell (as it was more properly called, for Telissat’s understanding of these things was limited) would emanate out for fifty miles in all directions, and shroud the entire city in peace.

Somewhere in the city, the moment after they began, a mugger struck his victim with a cosh and reeled back, skull fractured, while the accosted pensioner looked on bemused, follow-up attacks served no better. In a back-alley chop shop an organ smuggler cut his own abdomen open while working on an unconscious victim, and a suicidal foxling attempted to hang himself only to realize that while he had kicked the chair away, there was neither pain nor asphyxiation, though in his case the spell did not actually help him get anywhere until he was found six exceedingly boring and confusing hours later.

They had made exceptions for all manner of persons, the Necrons and the other C’tani guards who provided security for the conference carried visible exemptions on their persons, while surgeons and doctors within the city had been issued similar, as had Uncorruptibles within the city, to exempt them from the pervasive effect. On its perimeter it faded away, but much energy was used modulating the overmantle to ensure it did not reciprocate the acts of the occasional sports hunter, while abattoirs had to shut down for fear the spell’s over-protective influence would result in accidental deaths.

There were other effects woven into the mantle by secondary casters, divination magic, spying and scrying, were prevented, while healing spells’ efficacy was boosted across the city.

There were cities on Ilcathelma-Aritane and on other worlds that benefitted from such effects permanently, but casting such a large mantle here in Mystria was subject to the aetheric warping that would tear the wardings over time unless they were anchored with great care, and could result in all manner of aberration, for this reason, none of the central two circles of magi would move from their places for the duration of the conference, while the fifty who supported them would be swapped out many times, as they reached exhaustion; it was necessary to maintain a great level of power, there were delegates who rated as formidable mages in themselves, and the overmantle had to turn their power back on them.
"If any should be slaves, it should be first those who desire it for themselves, and secondly those who desire it for others. When I hear anyone arguing for slavery I feel a strong impulse to see it tried on him personally." ~ Abraham Lincoln
"The Necrons were amongst the first beings to come into existance, and have sworn that they will rule over the living." - Still surprisingly accurate!
"Be you anywhere from Progress Level 5 or 6 and barely space-competent, all the way up to the current record of PL-20 for beings like the C’Tan..." Lord General Superior Rai’a Sirisi, Xenohumanity
"Many races and faiths have considered themselves to be a threat to the Necrons, but their worlds and their cultures are now little more than interesting archaeology."

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New Dornalia
Posts: 1749
Founded: Apr 27, 2005
Civil Rights Lovefest

Postby New Dornalia » Sat Apr 13, 2019 3:38 pm

Somewhere Near the Meeting Site
Glorelheim, Crystal Spires

Gerald Kaang did his damndest to adjust his bow tie. Getting a grip wasn’t the hard part. Being a Tentaculan, the suckers on his tentacles made it easy to grip onto a variety of objects. And it certainly wasn’t the confines of the official-looking VC-35A6 King Raptor either. The King Raptor VIP models were actually quite comfortable and roomy inside. Perfect for ensuring things could get done in style.

No, the worst part was making sure his tie was perfectly straight. He may have been an octopus-esque alien from a distant system, but by the Great Globbulus Gerald Kaang was going to do his damnedest to be professional in what was possibly one of the nicest three-piece suits around--one which of course, was made out of water-resistant materials designed to withstand Gerald’s need for constant hydration--saline hydration at that. He could be seen moving the bits around his mouth which formed a crude moustache, uttering the following words in Common--the Dornalian English dialect--in a pleasant, folksy tone of voice.

“How now brown cow….how now brown cow….unique New York...unique New York…”

After all, it was why the nabobs at the State Department picked him for this gig. He was a consummate professional, and although he was technically only the second-in-command at the Dornalian Embassy here in Crystal Spires, in practice Gerald’s nominal boss--Ambassador Joseph Z. Waldrip--tended to run things at the Embassy on a “first among equals” basis. Which of course, meant that Gerald actually was able to get a lot of things done, and thus was not as awkward a fit for this thing as some of the staff thought. Besides, the Ambassador had a bout of the flu, the President and Secretary of State were busy with an ungodly number of other crises out in space, and well, High Commissioner Calisté Chenarn put Gerald’s name on the invite. So things worked in Gerald’s favor. Besides, Gerald liked talking with Calisté. Between the shared needs to be kept hydrated--Tentaculans and mermaids alike didn’t do so well outside of water for very long--and the fact he found the High Chancellor to be genuinely interesting, Gerald would be wading into some familiar social territory.

Gerald of course, had been told by the nabobs at State that he was there merely as an observer to whatever agreement or sanctioned body would result from this event. After all, the whole thing was organized to promote the prosperity and strength of Mystria. The Dornalians may not have been Mystrians, but they had dealings with several major nations who were either involved with Mystria or located within the region--including but not limited to the Malgraveans, Rohanians, Dysteans, Spireans, Menelmacari, and even the Great Civilization--and had always viewed the region as one which had important consequences (not to mention important trade and cultural opportunities) for the Colonial Republic. So, the CRE wanted an in on the ground floor of whatever this thing was about--even if it was just an observer’s position. Gerald figured that some nabob at State had a case of what the kids called “Fear of Missing Out,” but well, that wasn’t his call to make.

At any rate, Gerald managed to get his tie straight enough, but just in case, turned to one of the three women sitting down in the shuttle. Two of the women had on what could be described as black business suits and sunglasses with headsets in, echoing the stereotypical “Men in Black” look. Of course, one of the women had a suit with a knee length skirt on it as opposed to one with suit pants, but that was a distinction without a difference at this point. They looked to be quite athletic in build. One was a clearly African-American woman, the other was a pale woman with wolves’ ears and a tail.

The third woman meanwhile, was dressed more mundanely in business formal wear, her suit being a slate grey with an ever present tablet with stylus as well as a briefcase. She was a youngish woman with cat’s ears and a tail, and a somewhat peanut-butter-esque complexion.

Turning to the woman in the grey suit, Gerald asked, “Eileen?”

“Yes, Mr. Kaang?” was Eileen’s response.

“How’s my tie?” was Kaang’s somewhat nervously-tinged question.

“Looks good to me,” said Eileen, after looking over the Tentaculan for a few moments.

“Good. Thanks.” Kaang turned around, and began pacing about. “Sorry, I’ve just got the usual bit of pre-business jitters. I’ve met at least some of these people, I’ve read up on all the info State has on them, I’ve read my copies of materials...and yet I just can’t shake that feeling I’m missing something.”

Eileen’s reply was to say simply, recognizing this as a small habit of Gerald’s, “Well, Mr. Kaang, it happens to the best of us. Don’t worry about it.”

Pausing, Gerald then said, “Well, you’re right.” Sitting down, he added, “I suppose we won’t know exactly how this thing will go until get there. I just hope this thing doesn’t devolve into violence. There’s plenty of names on that invite the High Chancellor’s office sent us, and well, some of them have history. Not the good kind either.” State Department had plenty of information on the various factions of Mystria, compiled over years of nabobs sitting at desks organizing information into handy reports, nabobs watching too much local media, nabobs striking deals with local leaders, and nabobs keeping their ears to the ground.

“Well, hopefully, they’ll behave themselves,” Eileen said with a shrug. “I mean, given the way the C’tan are involved with Crystal Spires, it’s not likely they’re going to let shenanigans happen so easily.”

Gerald nodded, adding, “Indeed. I mean, I wouldn’t want to piss off the Necrons myself if I can help it.”

With that, Gerald picked up his tablet, and began sifting through his dossier full of State Department-produced information briefings on what was known about the various players, including his own notes. Gerald then added, his tone improving, “Besides, there’ll be plenty of people there which State knows are sensible, calm, happy people.”

After a while of flying, reading, and banter, the pilot squawked over the intercoms.

“Mr. Kaang!”

“Talk to me, Jock,” Gerald said, pushing a button on the intercom.

“We’re approaching the destination. Time to get into character, everybody!”

With that, the Dornalians landed in Glorelheim, and would be whisked to their accommodations...and thus, the Dornalians had skin in the game.
"New Dornalia, a living example of anomalous civilizations."-- Phoenix Conclave
"Your nation has always been ridiculous. But it's endearing."--Skaugra
"It's a magical place where chinese cowboys ply the star lanes to extract vast wealth from trade, where NORINCO isn't just an arms company, but an evil bond villain type conglomerate that hides in other nations. Where the apocalypse happened, and everyone went "huh, that's neat" and then got back to having catgirls and starships."-- Olimpiada
"...why am I space China, and I don't have actual magic animals, and you're space USA, and you do? This seems like a mistake." --Roania, during a discussion on wildlife.

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Great Fairy Alliance
Posts: 48
Founded: Apr 25, 2014
Inoffensive Centrist Democracy

Postby Great Fairy Alliance » Sat Apr 13, 2019 10:06 pm

Aegis, Glorelheim, Crystal Spires

In the southern lands of Mystria, the small island nation of the Fairy Alliance is a small and secluded realm of the Faerie. Born from the struggles of the resistance against the Frozen Throne in Silverdale whom upset the balance of the seasons and later fled to "Nine Island", the Fairies formed their independent nation. The dreams of democracy were dashed away by the ambitions of President Marshal Rosa to please his cronies, only to be manipulated by the most powerful of fairies for their own ends. In the outside, it appears to be a republic with lower standards of living, but inside the weak are pushed by the strong. Yet the winds of winter blow as the cries of true democracy to arise in the Fairy Alliance.

At least, what current President Venus hoped for.

The Aegis, an airship powered by the gust of the skies and magical energies, flew over the great ocean. It was like a majestic sailboat, yet levitated by well crafted magitek winds to move like a breeze throughout the clouds. It was important for the Aegis to steer its way above the great Aurora Ocean as even the most isolated deserted islands may house mega sharks to take the ship down. Although for Venus, the important office place needed to be protected from magical spying methods like scryping. Especially from the great fairies. So this sanctuary is where Venus and her allies can speak freely without consequence! Hopefully.

Venus, the feywild protector, drank a small cup of coffee as the thoughts of how to keep her people happy than being a thump of the council made this whole event so stressful and scary. All was left is to keep her appearance sharp as she brushed her purple hair to be smooth and straight, and her simple silk moth violet dark dress in shape. Even her dark eyelashes were curled up to keep her violet eyes free from it.

“Excuse me, maiden president!” A small blue fairy dressed…. Well blue fairy penguin, spread her butterfly wings attached to her spring filled druid robe to fly onto the desk. “We’re about to arrive in D'hɑlbrisir very soon. Plus the good news is that my special Envoy Wanda’s fantastic protection spell kept the sharks away!” Wanda the fairy penguin nodded.

“Oh that’s excellent news!” Venus smiled as she stood up on her chair. “Thanks to your blessing we should be a-okay now.”

“Yes indeed.” A gothic human lady, who had similar tastes to Venus, walked into the room and looked at the overworked president. “However, do worried that you pushed yourself too hard to prepare for this affair Venus.”

“You heard of the common Spirean phase ‘ the world is watching’ Morrigan? Almost all nations in the region shall partake in the convention, and our closest ally Silverdale. Any slip up would be a disaster back home. So…” Venus took a deep breath and smiled. “I did my best to be ready! Once we’re out of the ship, it’s showtime and I listed everything we’re going to do at the dock.” She showed a list that is rather lengthy for the two. “This includes our gifts for everyone and some notes on greetings.”

“I see…” Morrigan glanced over to the list and sighed. “Remember to keep yourself natural and flexible for improvising Venus. A rigid script would do no good and leave one open. If all goes well, then the convention shall be a breeze.”

“I hope that would be the case.” Venus said. “But this would also help us keep the council satisfied before we make a focused effort to find a way to improve our nation without their fingers on it. A clean deal without cash flowing into their hands will be good for one, and services that are needed for the people.”

“And how that would work exactly?” Morrigan asked.

“Regional pressure from other nations of course. They would have to accept and this would allow us to push much needed reforms.” Venus said. She looked a bit nervous on that part since it is an especially a life or death move, and if she failed, Venus might disappear overnight for Pumpkin Swirl to take over. The poor Earth Pony is a pushover despite the loyalty and willingness for change.

“Don’t worry Maiden Venus!” Wanda waved her star wand up. “We shall prevail at the end of this day and make new friends. And… make Fluffykins worried on her hooves to help with our cause than what Emerald does!”

“Yes, and we’ll make sure of that.” Venus nodded. “Now let’s make our nation great folks!” As Venus began to finish her preparation, the Aegis made its way to dock into the airdocks of Glorelheim. In a short amount of time, the fairy delegation made its exit, meeting the welcoming party.
Last edited by Great Fairy Alliance on Mon Apr 15, 2019 8:17 pm, edited 2 times in total.
Factbook, Insanity
<Cirno> I'm the Strongest!
<Rasty> Great Fairy Alliance's factbook gave me diabetes.

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Posts: 1
Founded: Jul 08, 2019
Left-Leaning College State

Postby Rainfella » Wed Jul 10, 2019 8:29 pm

Free Winds, Glorelheim, Crystal Spires

The tale of the children of Rainfella arises from myth and has been long forgotten by the people of Mystria. Only those who remember the days of old could recall the attempt to save elvenkind from madness, and how it failed. History was always written by the victors, and the Silvan State of Ealdurim would recall the glory of their successes at banishing the "vile" and "dark" intercopters into the treacherous jungle island of Rainfella. Chaos was the rule of the jungle, and many in their numbers perished senselessly. But those who survived those dark days thrived and celebrated. The freedoms they had found in this wild and untamed land was far away from the willfully ignorant and unwarranted "superiority" of their kin.

Chaos is not always a terrible thing, for it is a way to pave a path for change, yet it stood unpredictable which way the road might lead. As it stands, the Free Aflheim of Rainfella is riddled from coast to coast with pirate harbors for cutthroats, little banana republics, and monster attacks. Despite that it remains a tropical paradise.

Within the modern airship of the Free Winds that glided through the sky with its minic sails, and a Pulsar-magitek engine, the Goddess Amasal performed a small ritual to ease herself of anxiety by drinking from a golden chalice of sacred milk within her lavish quarters. The goddess was a free spirited lady and rarely appeared in the political sphere of the nation. She hardly ever ventured outside her home region of Alvelin, and spent time on the religious affairs and adventures across the region. The purple smooth-skinned drow gleefully let smooth droplets of warm oil caress every curve of her body. The soft smoothness around her wide spread hips, the perfumed scents lingering upon her full bosoms and a lingering touch upon her pointed earlobes. She was also at peak physical health, her muscles were packed tight in all the right places displaying both a powerful stance and yet a gleaming array of many golden rings on her ears showed she wasn't afraid of decadence. The two-piece spider silk dress barely covered her full bosom, and firmly showed the full bust she was well endowed with. She made sure to tie her long white hair into a high lift ponytail, because it was time for business, and she took time to remember how she came to be where she was.

She was born a simple common drow girl who was infertile and searched for an enlightened spiritual journey. Now her followers across the region prayed to her and if they needed any kind of aid, she would do it. A chance for peace meant the Mystrian Convention may be a fruitful endeavor.

“Excuse me, mother.” The younger drow’s popped her head out from the door, and allowed her snowy white hair to fall straight down. Evangelyne was the Archcleric of communique for Rainfella, and served to worth for diplomatic affairs in international affairs. The green dress hidden her legs as she moved, and wrapped around her waist and held her ample breasts tightly. Evangelyne was very excited as she entered the room, and patted her mom on the head and brushed up her princess cut bang to get a better view on her mom.“The reports of our intelligence network is truthful this time! Princess Marron Snowtear from Chione and Dyste is amongst the Dystan delegation, and it will be a delight to see them. What I heard from the rumors, she and her mother have a special form to become a powerful dragon-goddess warrior. So…” She placed her finger on her chin. “She would be wonderful to meet and maybe we could have a date.”

“Perhaps you shall.” Amasal nodded. “I have some curiosity about them after my angel spoke about their deeds within the ice world of Chione. We should pay them a visit one day.”

“Awesome.” She then asked. “Perhaps she can help us with the whole liberation of Ealdurim as well.”

“Queen Discordia would’ve frame it as revenge against the crimes committed by the magi council thousands of years ago, Evangelyne. This revanchism perceptive and the crimes committed by the corsairs and other proxies are less appealing towards the other nations in Mystria. However, the cries of abolitionists to free the slaves of Ealdurim is strong, and we can create allies to bring freedom in such lands. This is a dangerous task, but this is one key issue that I advise the delegation to tread carefully.”

“Agreed.” Evangelyne nodded. “The signatures in the Amistad Declaration would bring in Silverdale and Crystal Spires, however Allanea appears to lack any representatives in this convention. The elves of Menelemcari have shown interest in the freedom of the slaves and ending the tyrannical rule within Ealdurim, but for whatever reason, they have yet to embark.” The priestess-diplomat shrugged.

“A simple reminder of the crimes of the Ealdurimites may inspire them to act immediate action, but for now, we must calm our mind. There are many charismatic folks there, and it will be fun.” Amasal chuckled.

“Sure Mother...” Evangelyne rolled her eyes. “Now don’t embarrass me out there and seduce any diplomats on purpose. Our royal task is not trivial in this age.”

“When have I ever seduced a diplomat before?” Amasal winked at the annoyed younger drow. “Fear not my dear, there won’t be a disastrous moment under my role for this convention.”

When all is said and done, the Rainfellan delegation finished up their preparations, and prayers as the Airship descends towards the airlock. It will be a long and exciting day for the Rainfella delegation.


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