Gholgoth
Then there was Valentina. Silvier could not help but admire the girls love for her father, despite the open hostility from her older brother. She watched as the young princess went to cast the vote on behalf of the Ghantish delegation, knowing full well where the coin would fall, the weight of the responsibility not doing anything to phase her. "Many things can be bought, but never a daughter's love for her father." The Caesar knew this full well, and for a moment her mind wondered back to when she was a pint-sized princess following in the big footprints left by her father, Kain the Great. While the pain and trauma caused by his sudden and tragic death to a battle wound had passed, her own wound had not fully healed. Whatever the result of the election, she would be sure to praise Valentina later. The snide remark from Bebe caused her to snap back to reality. Should his father win, she would have to console him.
After Ryslander had voted, Silvier looked once to both Hyperion and Julianus, who both looked to her calmly and it was as if they shared their thoughts together through their stares. Gracefully she stood once again, picking up the coin carefully from the table and observing it closely under the artificial light that hung above her. As she did so, the acolyte - who had for the most part been silent throughout the proceedings of the meeting - began to speak a prayer at a level just audible to anyone who cared to listen, although the prayer wasn't intended for mortal ears. Those who had perhaps cared to study the sacred scripts and tongue of the Silvier Sacerdotium would know that she was praying for the Caesar's "token" - her vote - to reflect positively on the soul of her chosen candidate. After taking a moment of silent reflection, Silvier then made her way to the voting area. Identifying the choices laid out in front of her, she took another look at the coin, rubbing her thumb over the impression of the hydra on the coin, before looking towards the empty throne that would serve as the seat of the Executor, where Dreadfire would have once sat. Then, to all the occupants of the chamber.
"May the Grand Mother strengthen the resolve of whoever is chosen to carry the burdens of this office, and may their heart not grow white at the realisation of the prices this Council must pay in order to achieve peace. Semper Certans, Gholgoth."
For a brief moment, silence. Then the coin dropped.
CINV Resolution, Gholgoth-Class Aircraft Carrier
13th Carrier Battle Group, 5th Fleet
Near the Ekraysian Strait, Gholgoth
Proculus Mamilius Celer, Navarch of the Thirteenth Carrier Battle Group and commanding from the Resolution, had become somewhat of a minor folk hero back home in Kylarnatia. He was the model officer, having served in the Navy since the age of sixteen and never looking back, working his way up the ranks by going by procedure until the situation demanded quick thinking and unorthodox strategies. He was great for the recruitment material, but was also praised for his personal heroism; during Operation Broken Hammer - the Kylarnatian naval blockade of Fortress Norska in the First Milograd War - Proculus and the crew of his previous charge the CINV Brigadier had been able to rescue hundreds of shipwrecked sailors while under heavy and relentless fire, before successfully dropping a depth charge on a dreaded Kraven submarine, immeasurably saving thousands more. The whole experience had steeled him, and nothing ever seemed to make him flinch or lose his nerve.
The deck of the Resolution was orderly but full of activity, as officers and ensigns moved between stations, giving and carrying out orders as was necessary. Proculus sat at his command throne, looking out of the windows to the choppy waters and thrashing rain. The deck of the carrier was clear and so the rain just bounced off, dancing up into the air with a natural rhythm that was both awing but also skin-crawling to watch if you weren't a fan of rain. The Navarch was not, but he wasn't going to be picky about a few drops of water; he was in the wrong line of work for that. Instead he occasionally found himself bothered by a brief, but sharp sensation in the back of his head. He had come to count on it as his own sixth sense: something wasn't right, and so far he'd been given little information as to what, other than being told to expect to hear more from the Pudite High Command as he drew closer. He knew that a sizeable portion of the Fifth Fleet would soon be behind him, but he didn't like being kept in the dark by Dux Praefector Osorkon. For now, he and the few ships under his command would be the first on the scene, and that's what he'd have to work with until more arrived.
Running his right hand over his bald cranium as if to dismiss the sensation, Proculus then stood and signalled to one of his officers at the navigation station. "How much longer until we arrive at the designated location?"
"At our current pace, a full day, my Navarch." The officer replied after confirming with his ensigns.
"And the weather?" He looked over to another station.
"Set to clear once we get past the Ekraysian strait, my Navarch." The next officer replied.
"Very good. Once it's clear I want our planes in the air to give us a greater idea of our surroundings. Is that understood?"
"Yes, Navarch!" Several now replied in chorus, pounding their chests in salute.
"Good. Make it so."