Vra skyr, vra karla
Gra Atkana, gra Norva
Onze Patreich stallt firmil
Roenige scepta het tranquilitaet
Atkanum Vraal
Invitations had been sent to former foes, current friends from one corner of the Multiverse to celebrate those of the Old Breed that still remained. This was unusual, as the Dread Sovereign's subjects had rarely been anything but guests in the halls of more hospitable nations. The Ire of Septimania had been prepared for the dignitaries and their retinues from one corner of the Cosmos to the other. Those chefs who specialized in the particular culinary styles of those powers thought to attend were ferried in from across the Cosmos. While those Frankians in attendance might frown on the luxurious and strange dishes, they kept their opinions to themselves as they broke bread and knocked down cup after cup of Roeniger red.
Dux Yngta vra Hallsfrell skimmed through a paperback containing some Pordish sayings, memorizing certain sayings and phrasings. Though Pordish was taught at university and some Pordish phrases had entered into the Frankian language. Still, expertise in foreign languages was rare within the Frankian hierarchy where the will to endure hardship was stressed rather than academic trinkets. Hallsfrell came to pity those who were attempting to pick up some of the phrases from the more alien tongues, their structures sometimes requiring the Lingua system to churn out anything coherent.
Guards stood arrayed across the hall in the honest green that had spawned the namesake of the King's soldiers. The Greenclad, as both friend and foe dubbed them, fierce in battle and merciful in peace. Some had seen action against surgs, some were veterans of regiments that had been nearly wiped out in the fighting during the Great War. Most wore their hair at shoulder length with faces clean shaven, vert few were allowed the whiskers that marked a veteran of foreign conflicts.
One of the weary Grognarr stood, his rifle at his shoulder. His pepper gray mustache and sideburns barely covered the scars about his face from a dozen campaigns. Once he had been a foolish youth who had 'listed when the wolves at the gates, taking part in the action of Ursta's Heights that had seen the lush green fields polluted in the blood of Ram and Wolf alike. He recalled how the sound of the trumpet and the flapping of the banner of the Rammenflieg, of iron youth transformed into iron heroes.
Atkavrall Void Port
The arrival of foreign vessels into the Frankian Void would be monitored by detachments from the 34th Fleet, under the command of Magistros Escartes vra Urstann. Some in his charge would marvel at the appearance of the array and style of vessels, others would likely find some fault in the grandiose fixation of some of the Great Powers. Urstann was prone to dismiss such opinions by instinct, a ship's worth in the Void was based on skill within Voidkampf. Numbers and size alone were impressive, on records, but battles such as Tale and Yamsai has been decided by iron will over sheer mass.
A communique would be sent to all vessels, regardless of their origin or how long they had been in contact with the Dread Realm.
Foreigners, in the name of his Dread Sovereign Feylor IV of the line of Wulfius, we welcome you. Far have you traveled, across countless leagues across the Cosmos. From realms far different in governance and structure, in folk and faith, you are of origin. Be that is may, lodging free of charge and amusements have been prepared for as long as you tread under soil most sacred to the Mater Most High.
-Vice Minister Astann vra Askra of His Dread Sovereign's Foreign Ministry
Locations and coordinates would naturally be sent, with an escort of Frankian retainers if sought. Cafes, libraries, and music halls would be marked so that a visitor might take in a sampling of Frankian culture and life.
