The Mianodian Stratagem (IC | Meillur Only)

[Cinyras]

Pannikos Rokotis stepped off of the small jet plane that he’d charter from Brusek to Rostov. Rokotis, commander of the Orchids, the elite royal paramilitary force that had served alongside his friend, the King of Cinyras. Rokotis was not a particularly striking man. He had strong square features. His jaw was strong, covered in a nearly trimmed beard that matched his brown hair cut close crop on his head. He had a broad chest and powerful muscles. He wore a pair of designer sunglasses and a well made three-piece suit, he had decided that Cinyroite fashion wouldn’t fit well in Neu Estovakia.

Rokotis carries with him a briefcase that contained the contract that would be signed between him , as leader of the Orchids, and the mysterious client that had been in contact with them in regards to a special mission. The client’s identity had not been given to Rokotis yet and thus he and the King of Cinyras had given him the code name of the Aravean Candidate. All Rokotis at the moment really knew about the Aravean Candidate was that he was someone of high station in Aravea and he wished to eliminate a political arrival. Enríkos had give Rokotis the all clear in accepting them, attaching his Russen pet, Nukai d’Aurelians to their group.

“Disambarking now,” Rokotis sais into his communicator.

“Marvelous,” said Ignatios Nicolidis, another member of the Orchids was situated in a converted Gênoise sky yacht, over just outside of territorial airspace. “There should be a car waiting for you.” There was. Rokotis found the car waiting for him just outside of the small air field, painted a soft baby blue. He got inside, started it up and glanced at the dashboard as Nicolidis sent him the coordinates for the secure location where he would meet the Aravean Candidate in order to discuss their mission in greater detail, information that was also provided to the client. Have plug it in the car’s GPS, Rokotis drove to the location, eager to start.

[Aravea]

On the outskirts of Rostov hidden within a thick wooded area three individuals awaited the arrival of their guests outside of a small sandstone villa painted in a dull white, all surrounded by a six foot high wall. The tallest of the three, an ebony skinned man of middling height with short cropped brown hair, leaned against the gate to the compound. He wore a tightly fitting three piece blue suit that seemed to just barely contain his muscular frame, all of which was concealed beneath a kneelength black overcoat. His golden eyes looked out through midnight black sunglasses at the street before him, all the while the man’s mind pondered what lay ahead of them tonight. The man, known to his comrades as Sable, scowled as he eyed the deserted road leading through the woods. On the surface he gave off an air of implacability, yet beneath his stone faced exterior his mind was awash in turmoil. He could not quite place his finger on it, but something about their upcoming meeting was setting him on edge. Perhaps it was the danger they were putting themselves in by being here, something only exacerbated by the reputation that their guests had built during their long careers. Sable shook his head, giving off a sigh a he thought. No it could not be that, as he had dealt with such individuals before and things had gone rather well. The more he thought about it, the more he realized that what was placing him on the edge was the slim possibility that the plot of their master would be discovered by their target. The eventuality, while being unlikely, was nonetheless one which the trio had taken great pains to avoid in selecting this location. Between the isolation of the villa, the drones patrolling its perimeter and the various security systems, it was unlikely that anyone besides themselves or their guests knew of what would transpire in the villa. Even still, one could never be too careful” Sable thought as he felt a gloved hand tapping on his shoulder.

The hand belonged to a lithe white skinned woman with silver hair tied into a bun, clad in an elegant yet simple black dress that reached down to her knees. Her dress, which was concealed beneath a black overcoat similar to that of Sable, fluttered in the wind as she tilted her head at her companion, “Sable, calm yourself. Now is not the time for you to be worrying about such things, especially not when our...guests shall soon be arriving.” The woman, known to her companions as Ranker, smiled as she thought of how close they were to achieving their ultimate end. Between the retirement of the Arkhoness, the marriage of the Pologain princess into the Imperial family, and the spate of recent trade and political agreements, everything was falling into place at a faster rate than anticipated.Now with the fall of that imbelic lech of an old chancellor at her hands, Ranke had removed the last major obstacle to her long term goals in the Parliament. With the election of the new chancellor, a rather malleable Sylvani by the name of Maren Wintervale, Ranke would have a much easier time ensuring the passage of the legislation she needed. After all, what member of the Rikstag would refuse to heed the words of the woman who toppled the man who led Aravea to the brink of war? With the Chancellorship and the Rikstag under her influence, Rinke could not turn her focus towards dealing with the last obstacle that stood in the way of her plans for Aravea. The obstacle took the form of a high ranking member of the Imperial family, whose prominence and ties to powerful foreign actors threatened to force Aravea onto a path which would surely destory Aravea. Be it through civil war between the three kingdoms or through war with a foreign power, Aravea’s end was all but certain should said obstacle survive. Yet with the help of their guests, they could finally put an end to the Prince’s meddling, leaving them free to finally lead Aravea to a brighter future. Ranke was soon shaken from her thoughts as she heard the whine of an engine, a noise that only grew all the louder as blue painted car pulled into the villa as the gate closed behind it. As the car came to a halt and well built individual stepped out of the vehicle, the Araveans bowed as Ranke spoke, "Welcome to Neu Estovakia, our honored guests. I trust your journey was a pleasant one?"

[Cinyras]

Rokotis bowed his head in response to the bowing of the Aravean, pleaded by their politeness. It was terribly often that Rokotis found himself working with people with no manners at all, or thought that people like him didn’t possess them. Which was utterly preposterous. For people in Rokotis’ generation, born during the reign of Loudovíkos, they had quickly found that the king had a thing about how society was supposed to look and made sure it was presented in schools. Plus when one dealt with people like the King of Cinyras and various high profile clientele, one learned the right etiquette. Even if you chose to ignore it. Rokotis may be a mercenary but that didn’t mean he couldn’t be a gentleman.

“Undoubtedly,” Rokotis said with a smile. “It felt as if it just flew by.” Rokotis chuckled softly at his own little joke. He then said: “It is an honor to be your guest, I hope that our business can be conducted to your best likening.”

[Cinyras]

Meanwhile in Nikosia...

Enríkos II tapped his croquet mallet against a ball that was painted the same color as the baby blue sky. It rolled across the finely manicured lawn of the palace grounds. It rolled through the grass and through one of the decorative porcelain hoops stakes into the rich ground. This was followed by a round of soft applause from the various onlookers lining the course ground of the croquet set. Croquet, a game that Enríkos particularly had little interest in, but was one that had become popular to serve as a pastime for the elite of his country. The Court in particular had taken a liking to it, and thus as King, Enríkos had decided to indulge them.

“Well struck Your Magnificence,” said Vissarian, clapping alongside the rest of the courtiers.

Enríkos smirked at the noble youth. And just because he was doing something for the nobles didn’t mean that he couldn’t indulge himself as well. Enríkos gestured and Vissarian was padding over the grass to Enríkos’ side. The King of Cinyras put an arm around Vissarian’s waist and he kissed the noble. Vissarian had quickly become a favorite of the king, not yet amant-en-titre, but still with great favoritism. There was a short of virginal aspect about the de Quinte boy (as he had become known by his peers—though only in his aesthetic. Enríkos had made sure that such a fact no longer existed.

Today the King had dressed Vissarian in a pair of mauve and gold form fitting slightly translucent harem pants. His arms were decorated with glittering gold armbands and a pale gold open jacket that displayed his slightly oiled torso, crisscossed with purple thread from the lapels of the cloth. A gold collar necklace with a large opal centerpiece on it. Vissarian, Enríkos had decided, did not need much decoration, and his pectoral were obvious his best feature and thus needed to be put on display. The other members of the hetairos had been horribly jealous over it. Enríkos had loved invoking such emotions in so many.

King Enríkos himself was dressed even more scantly. The handsome young monarch wore a pair of white short-shorts that showed off his legs. His abdomen was entirely on on show by his royal blue crop-top lined with silver, with matching armbands around his biceps. A pair of silver chains looped down from the shirt to his hips on each of his sides. He wore designer silver sandals that went up his calves. The King wore a silver diadem in the shape of the rays of a frozen sun on his head amongst his beautiful blond hair. The King pulled away from his kids with Vissarian and ran his free palm down the de Quinte’s chest.

This drew several whispers from the crowd of Cinyroite nobles. As well as several jealous glances towards Vissarian. These murmurs of the aristocrats of the kingdom were cut short as the King’s Majordomo, Magenta, dressed in his signature color, pushed through the crowd, sweeping his hand as if he were shoo-ing away a flick of annoy birds. Which was not too far from the truth as he stopped in front of the King of Cinyras, bowing low and elaborately. Enríkos swung his mallet in the circle, resting it over his shoulder as he glanced down at his majordomo.

“Your Magnificence,” Magenta said, “You have a guest requesting an audience with you. From Cosecca.”

Enríkos rolled his eyes. Playing croquet or entertaining foreign guests? At this point it felt like a lose lose situation. But he decided that at least an audience would be more interesting than this snobbish excuse for a past time.

“Send them down.”

[Racraigua]

Victor Đurđević marched down the halls of the magnificent palace of the King of Cinyras, following the aid outside into the bright light of the tropics of this foreign nation. Victor had in tow his two sons, Antoine and Dalibor, the former just nineteen and the later just sixteen, whilst Victor was a middle-aged man. Victor wore a white linen suit with a dark crimson tie, similar to what he might have worn on a business trip to Bakar. Antoine was dressed up in a similar get up as his father, like a younger more handsome version, his tie baby blue instead of red. Dalibor wore white trousers and a blue button-up shirt.

The Đurđevićs made their way through the crowd of the Cinyroite nobles like an angry goose followed by his younglings. Whilst it was Antoine who the Đurđević’s made their claim to the throne of Makonia, as Antoine was the most senior living member of the Makonian royal family, the real Royal family, not the Deritain pretenders that had taken root in Bagata. Antoine was a great grandson of the late Queen Jelena III who had reigned for decades successfully as an absolute monarch before being succeeded by short lived and tyrannical rulers who had weaken the nation, allowed for crack to be used by invaders to seize the nation.

Victor had lost his wife and his daughter in the Anarchy that had swept over the country in the lead up to the rise of Queen Émérente. He had set up his base in Cosecca, appealing to the Queen of Racraigua, herself originally a Makonian Princess for aid, as well as turning to the Emperor of Connuriste, whose rivalry with the Aurelians Family ever since the Duke of Aurelians slept with his wife seemed to had somewhat endeared him to his cause. Both however seemed prepared only to give limited support. And limited support would not right the wrong of the loss of Antoine’s throne to Émérente. Victor and his sons needed action.

Which had lead him here to King Enríkos II of Cinyras. Perhaps here Victor could find someone willing to conquer Makonia for him. Victor stopped short in front of the King, through off by his appearance. He sniffed, raised an eyebrow but bowed slowly. “Your Majesty.”

[Cinyras]

Enríkos chuckled as he watched the Đurđevićs filed down to him and his adoring courtiers like a group of ducklings following after their mother duck. Or rather father duck in this case. Poor Vasnja the Elder, though, from what Enríkos has been told, she had more than enjoyed her last moments on Earth. And certainly hadn’t been all that horribly in love with Mr. Đurđević, no matter how much he played the role of the grieving widower.

“Magnificence,” Vissarian corrected Mr. Đurđević, perking up like a young puppy that had just successfully performed a trick for his owner—which in a way, Enríkos supposed that he had. The King of Cinyras spun his croquet mallet in the air, before bring it back down to the grass, leaning on it as if it were a cane. He felt like one of those businessmen from the movies, the kind that brought clients out to the golf course to discuss the next steps in their professional relationship.

“Mr. Đurđević, I hear you’re in need of an army.”

[Racraigua]

Victor sniffed again. No small part of him was annoyed and perhaps even embarrassed that he had been resorted to this, going to seek help from this young king, who lived a life of flamboyance and luxury entirely at ease and unearned. All the while his own sons had been denied their birthright as the true heirs to the late great Queen Jelena III. When he looked at Enríkos II of Cinyras, he saw a boy only a few years older than his eldest would have been had she not so tragically met her demise. Victor refused to believe that his darling little Vasnja has truly ended her own life, and if she had only out of utter desperation.

And yet now here he stood before the Cinyroite king ready to have to work to achieve his goals. Where Enríkos had needed only the crown to fall into his lap asa birthday gift of all things, Victor would have to fight to win his sons their crowns. But right of conquest held just as strongly in monarchies as right of birth. And it could be all the better if he could use the armies of King Enríkos, whose special forces, both official and unofficial were famous the world over and in the underworld for their efficiency and their ability to remove and install regimes, which were in particular interest to Victor and his cause.

“Well, you may tell whatever little birdie in your cage, it’s information flies on swift wings. I believe your pink berets can help... restore balance to Makonia.”

[Cinyras]

“Well,” Enríkos mused over Mr. Đurđević‘s statement, picking at a nonexistent blemish on his nails, which were in fact perfectly pedicured. “I certainly could help with that. I do love this era of balance and good feelings after all.”

Enríkos had his own reasons for disliking Queen Émérente in particular, if not otherwise carrying much about the Makonian monarchy. It was in his interest that Makonia remained a stable and friendly place. The existence of the Đurđević pretender was potentially a distablizer and the last time Makonia has been instable, it had nearly caused Cinyras to starve to the point of full scale revolt.

So if Antonijo sat the throne, especially he were put there by his hand in a swift clean transition of power, it solved all of Enríkos’s problems. And the King of Cinyras adored having no problems. “It’ll cost you though.”

[Racraigua]

Victor let out a breath that he hadn’t been realizing that he had been holding. As much as he didn’t like his current situation, he had been prepared for a great fight to get what he wanted—what he needed. But it seemed that the King of Cinyras had already made up his mind before he had even arrived. Victor finally smiled, imagining the news reports of the swift and sudden removal of Émérente and the restoration to the throne the rightful heir to the Crown of Makonia, his son, with Victor of course at his side to aid him in his new rule.

Victor looked back at his sons, beaming, mildly shocking the two young men, who had not seen their father do much more than sulk and scowl with a visage of frustration and determination for their cause in so many years. It was odd. It made for strange surprise. Antonio and Dalibor looked at each other, silently sharing a mental conversation with their eyes. It was clear to their brothers that they were equally surprised and slightly put off by their father’s joy had having secured an ally in Cinyras, for it was not a joy like that of a loving father, but of a salivating kingmaker.

Nonetheless the two boys forced smiled up at their father, who patted Antonio on the shoulder and turned his attention back to the Cinyroite King. Now he smiled at the King, for however much he was jealous of him, he now saw opportunity was viable. He could taste the success of their operation already, all his dreams for his sons were going to be coming true.

“Of course!” Victor sais, now perfectly amicable. “I still have most of my funds from before the Deritain imposter invaded our homeland and forced us to flee. And of course, once Antonio is on the throne, we shall have access to the coffers of the royal treasury. You need only name a price, Your Magnificence.”

[Cinyras]

Enríkos laughed, putting a hand on his hip, giving Mr. Đurđević a sideways look. It was certainly amazing how amicable people could get when you started to dangle things they wanted over their noses. He loved having such power. Mr. Đurđević with all his scheming and planning, and his lofty aspirations for his sons—all for his sons of course, of course— might think he was the kingmaker here, but Enríkos knew that it was he who held that title. On top of being a king in his own right. Enríkos was Mr. Đurđević’s only hope, that the young king knew for a fact. No other nation would dare nor had quite the same means as Enríkos II. It was only that their interests were aligned that Mr. Đurđević was in luck.

As for the matter of naming a price, that nearly had Enríkos cackling. He was sure that whilst the Đurđevićs were wealthy, they hadn’t nearly the liquid capital needed to truly afford the expertise of Enríkos’s pink berets. And even if they did use the Makonian royal treasury, Enríkos was just as aware that a great deal of the moment in there cane from the trade between Makonia and Cinyras, so that would be most a repaying him with his own money.But it was not simple cash that had Enríkos interested in aiding the Đurđevićs, not was it precisely what he wished to take in payment. Enríkos II glanced over Antonio and Dalibor, noting the former’s handsome visage and the pair’s silence in the shadow of their father. Enríkos bit his lip smiling, almost hungrily at the two before turning to Victor.

“My fee is quite... sizable Mr. Đurđević, I am not sure if you will be able to handle it.”

Enríkos turned his attention to De Quinte, though continued to speak to Mr. Đurđević, a wicked smile on his face as he gently pressed his mallet against the young courtier’s chest, as if he were softly preparing to smash it in. “You see, money is no object to me. I have more than enough, for a dozen lifetimes several times over. But I do like to collect things. Conquer things. I believe you can provide me with something I very much what in my possession. And to restore order and balance in Makonia, I am sure that you will be willing to sacrifice it no?”

Enríkos turned, nodding to the Đurđević brothers. “Sacrifice for the a crown, is ultimately softened by victory.”

[Racraigua]

Antonio and Dalibor both shot one another’s second panicked looked. Dalibor, the younger of two, took a step backwards behind his older brother. Antonio extended his arm slightly as if to stand between him and the King of Cinyras.

Victor’s smile wavered, though only for a second, before clearing his throat, straightening his tie. Victor had not expected this turn of events. But as he had already mentally settled on victory and that he was well prepared for a fight, the looming life of success had skewed his view. He wasn’t sure what the King of Cinyras might want. And he was scared ri ask what his price might be. But he had come to far to balk at such a simple thing now.

“If I can provide it to you, then it is yours.”