Corruptio Optimi Pessima (PT/Invite-Only/IC/Regional-RP)

[Grustan]

Throughout history war has found itself rooted deeply into the cultural identity of many peoples. It has decimated the political landscape in a more profound way than any founder, monarch, leader, individual, or group of people. War. It is a word that strikes fear into boys and men alike, but inspires courage and bravery in the darkest of hours. It is a driving force that has made and mangled countries, empires, and ideologies. Nations have all discovered, through different means, that war breeds peace, and peace breeds war. The isolationist N.S.F., the privateering Faustin, the krytocratic Sar-Fenway; all these and many more gained peace through war.

The face of the world is constantly changing. New territory is always being fought over, and much old land is still left unclaimed. Discovery has long since faded away, and now the field is ripe with empires, and strong alliances: all bound by honour. As much as the political fields change, so do the armaments and technology of nations. Many governments have attempted to focus on one form of warfare above others, whilst some have balanced all. Others find no need for war, and only intend to procure peace throughout their dealings.

Throughout the world there are only four races that occupy any amount of land, and they are all unique in their own way. The Imperials, a race of rather plain description, with a hearty amount of stamina and an all around set of skills, they usually occupy the middle class jobs and live to the eightieth year of life. The Eldar, a race of handsome and beautiful men and women, all of whom live longer than Imperials. Not as strong as their supposed-sister race, the Eldar make up for this by being incredibly agile and usually living to an age of one hundred and ten. The Dwemer, a race of short and stout craftsmen and inventors, renowned for their amazing works of architecture and science. Dwemer are stronger than Imperials, but usually only live to the seventieth year. Finally, the Orkkin, a race of tall, discoloured, and horned brutes. Not the sharpest tools in the shed, the Orkkin only live to the fiftieth year most of the time, but live their lives with an incredible strength completely unmatched by any other race.

Religion is all across the world, sometimes replaced by theology and science. Shiinism seems to be the religion of the world, owing to their followers numbering in the hundreds of thousands. It is most spread in the holy land of Asia, however, and does not reach far outside of the Grustonian Commonwealth. Other religions dominate their respective territories, with the lingering traces of Orthodox Christianity taking root in the western world thanks to the former Salitov Empire. Some nations are totally lacking in faith, and instead put their trust in the grip of science; however they are usually less kind than other nations.

Trade is rife amongst the lands and the seas are abound with both commerce and careful patrolling. Grustan and its commonwealth dominate the Pacific and Indian seas, whereas the European waters are congested. The Atlantic is shared by both Grustan and Les Habitants, who contest with the colonies of other nations for trade opportunity. Tensions run high every now and then, especially between Salitov and nations occupying their former empire. The N.S.F. and Morskiej look ready to explode upon one another, and the central European powers are yet to make their move. It feels as if, perhaps, something looms over the horizon.

It is the year 1905. Great steel warships cut swathes through the hurling oceans, men grow up to become potential cannon fodder for prestigious armies; and ever closer does the impending clash loom. Peace breeds only war, and war breeds nothing but peace. Now, amongst the growing political tension, Grustan has come forwards and called for a meeting of sorts. Aptly naming this the ‘World Fair’, it is a chance for nations to come forward and state their intentions in the new age.

At the very least, it will be a show of character.

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Rules

#1: Only IC posting, all OOC posts should be made in the RMB.

#2: Sticking to the time period is mandatory. It is 1905, news doesn't travel as fast as a bullet.

#3: No godmodding. It's bad for you more than us.

#4: Make sense. If you invade, how did your men get there?

#5: Follow combat rules. If you engage in war, make sure to follow the combat doctrine! (TG OP for link!)

#6: Take care with your posts. One sentence replies to three paragraph posts aren't cool.

#7: Take time to paint pictures. If your city is amazing, make sure you convey why!

#8: Consider your position at all times. You can speak badly about [character] anytime, but it's probably best to be nice when you're in front of them.

#9: Let others do their thing. It's one thing to invade someone, it's another to tell them how badly they failed to repel you.

#10: Be nice! Well, moderately nice. Arguing has its place in the RMB, not here.

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Linquett.

A city of the gods if ever seen, and certainly in the eyes of the devout Shiinist. The High Palace of Accendo towers above all in the far distance, owing to its sheer size and might for such a feat. Here, in the Grustonian territory of Corterra, outsiders find themselves not only welcomed, but also the subjects of national curiosity. Picturesque scenes paint themselves in every street, with beautiful Eldar women on near-every arm, and well dressed men drinking finely chilled beverages. Painters can be seen every so often, putting to canvas a man and a woman, or two, or five.

Having arrived for the World Fair, foreigners will find their places set up in fine order. Set before the High Palace and somewhat surrounded by the red brick and marble of the city, a humongous parade ground sits in waiting. For now, the grounds are mostly sparse, with few comings and goings. Areas have been designated for each attending nation in an octagonal fashion, reaching outwards as to allow many showcases. Amongst them all sits a large stand, being set up by numerous men and women in the bright daylight. The air is humid and pleasant, and even this far into the city, the smell of sea salt and sound of waves can be heard, albeit barely.

The grounds around the prepared area are in a fine state, and numerous fountains spray water that dances in the light. Nations wishing to join the parade set to take place have no doubt begun getting their men ready, waiting for the festivities to start, and the Grustonian's to begin the parade. In the harbour sit ships of many types and sizes, the object of interest for both citizens and foreigners. Somewhere off in the distance the sounds of song and dance can be heard, and up above the marble palace shines in the light.

Eager to get to work and show their pride well, the foreign workers no doubt set about preparing a stall worthy of merit.

Within the middle of the parade grounds, the Grustonian workers were much too busy to notice their visitors. The Emperor himself would be attending the Fair, and hosting the stall for Grustan. Not only that, but he would also be joined by the Duchess Cordellia, who recently reformed the Exteriterra. Alongside them would be numerous works of art, samples of famous wines, a hosting of Grustonian naval pieces on display, topped off by performances from servants.

Servants would be dancing for the pleasure of foreign and fellow peoples well into the night, dressed in a matching series of rather erotic outfits. Currently, however, they were seated near the edge of the parade grounds, enjoying their free time with a host of drinks and pastries. Several soldiers were standing nearby, as they would be all throughout the city, but these men were less outfitted. Dressed in finery and equipped with extravagant guns that were more for show than shooting, they were content to chat up one of the nearby servant girls.

Amongst the workers and seemingly about to explode, an Orrkin foreman by the name of Kur'lash was arguing with a Dwemer architect. Kur'lash was very intelligent for a member of his kind, and was foreman because of this, but he certainly was not of a mellow temper. "Why would we require extra supports for the stage? Are you a fool, Altgräfin Bursk? We are all very much honoured by your attendance, and in awe of your genius, but the supports will do naught but obscure the servants!"

"You are intelligent for a ripskin but it leaves you lacking," Bursk scoffed with amusement. "The supports are very much needed, unless you would prefer our guests and girls crushed by the décor?" Motioning to the stage being set up with a dismissive grunt, the finely dressed Dwemer looked up at the foreman unintimidated. "By the time I was appointed to this project, I could not alter the plans. Your stage is lovely, and the girls have worked hard, but whomever designed the blasted thing was dumber than you!" Ending on a high note, the stout man resorted to stroking his beard. "It will not last three hours, let alone ten or more. I suggest you install the beams and re-allocate four or so of the girls to entertaining the guests." He smiled. "I'm sure they'd be fine with a pretty woman or two besides them."

Bellowing laugher in the Dwemer's face, Kur'lash beat his chest slightly. "Sou ka, yes, I see your point. I was skeptical of the designs, but did not want to alter them, for fear of ruining the work. Surely, no guest will object to the sultry girls being close rather than far." The purple skinned giant looked over at the servants briefly, before smiling. "Subarashii. Where did you want to place the supports again? Would you show me, please?"

It would be a short while before the fair, and a long while during; but the work would no doubt pay off. It was a chance to usher in the new age, and show off the technological and cultural advancements made since the last. Surely, it would be an opportunity not wasted by any man.

...Lest he doom his fellows.

[Les Habitants]

Linquett.

Ambassador Monsiure Lemot surveyed the construction, eagerly watching as the copper roofing for what would soon be a French-Gothic building was completed. The building housed a ballroom sized skating rink, and was surrounded with a colonial style log fort wall.

He glanced over the rest of the fair grounds. Many other nation's were finalizing their construction, surely trying to set up works of architecture that would impress the world. That's what the fair grounds were really, a podium to proclaim your nation's supremacy to the entire world.

He turned his attention back to his own corner of the fair grounds, representing his own corner of the world. While the main attraction of the pavilion was the ice rink, there was much more to it, as if constructing a larger than average ice rink on a tight schedule wasn't complicated enough. Inside there was small food vendor stands that one would expect at an ice rink, however the balcony level over looking the rink would serve meals geared towards the upper class, accurately representing the divide between the care free lower class and that staunch upper class back home. Within the walls of the fort, would be the same sort of out door market common across Les Habitants, selling and displaying goods from across the empire. Along the walls, soldiers, in full dress would patrol, as did their ancestors on the frontier forts. A small cabin at the back of the Pavilion acted as a museum depicting the nation's history and recent accomplishments.

One thing in particular the ambassador was anxious about was the 1mx0.18m model of Les Habitant's new Champlain-Class Battleship that was set to sit in a pool and actually move around with a tiny oil engine. The fair grounds were a podium, the muscle flexing was bound to start eventually.

[The National Socialist Federation]

High-Chancellor Alek Minsk looked as sharp and handsome as ever, dressed in his military uniform, three golden aiguillette adorning his shoulder and his knee-height, shining black boots, his blonde hair swept back. There was only one problem with him at the moment however; Using his crisp blue eyes to glare as he surveyed the fair ground bellow. Such a beautiful city, populated by disgusting sub-species...

"Ptresk, come here, I need you to deliver a message for me down to the commissar on duty down at the stall," His smooth, calm ad yet unsettling voice called out to his assistant, a medium-height man, just as unnerving as his Chancellor. "Tell them to extend the work hours by another, we're ahead of schedule but I'd like to show up the other nations if possible, especially Salitov and these Grustanians." He spat out the last word.

"Yes, High-Chancellor," The bland and void of life Ptresk droned out in a monotone voice. "Commissar Veryska will be notified." He saluted and turned sharply, heading out the door and into the halls, on his way to fair grounds that Alek had gone back to glaring at.



The Federal Guards sat stoically at parade rest in their dress uniforms, Luger P08' on their left hip, sabers on the right, glaring forward and making people generally avoid getting close to them at all. None would get near, not unless they were on of their own, which the approaching man was, the guard allowing him through without even a glance. They knew who he was.

Ptresk walked with a purpose into the Federation's stall, the workers already having completed the basic structure and already installing the wiring. The commissars were a good idea. Speaking of commissars, he had spotted his target, the young but still very much intimidating Commissar Veryska, a tall and intimidating blonde haired woman, standing atop the main platform, surveying the workers and eventually spotting Ptresk, quickly forming her salute, her arm at a practiced forty-five degree angle, arm straight.

He returned with a brief salute, "At ease, Commissar, I am here for an update on your progress."

Veryska dropped her arm to her side, standing at attention in front of her superior. "Of course, sir," Her voice not overly feminine and still gruff, "As you can see, we have completed the stall's basic structure and are now going about installing electrical wiring to the lights and reinforcing the stage for our heavier artillery pieces and large ship models."

"Very good, you've all made wonderful progress," He said in his normal, unsettling and yet bland voice, "But the High-Chancellor has requested that the work hours be extended by another hour. He wishes to be ahead of schedule, so as to show up the other attendants as he puts it. This won't be a problem, I hope"

Veryska was dreading having to tell the men that they would have to work even harder, but she dared not argue. "Of course not sir, I will relay this to the workers and my fellow Commissariat. We will not disappoint the High-Chancellor. Will that be all?"

"Yes, that will be all, Commisar. See to it that you do not disappoint." He left it at that, quickly giving a salute and leaving, not bothering to wait for a return salute, leaving behind a shaken Veryska, evident by the breath of air she finally let out.

They feared him and he loved it.

[The Kokyuna Clan]

With a loud creaking moan of wood, a large ship pulled into the harbor. It's hull, beaten and it's sails torn as it simply thudded up against the dock. Few nations still used wooden ships at this time, as new inventions and achievements have brought about large scale change, yet this nation simply did not care for naval actions, opting for the cheapest option of all. "S.S. One-timer" was in big white letters on the bow, it simplicity and meaning alluding to it's owner and operator.

"Land-ho!" A loud voice shouted out, completely oblivious to the actual meaning of the term and the fact that it was called long before reachng this point. Quite a few humans hopped down from the side of the ship before planks were extended for a simple walk down. They were not ones for waiting.

"Alrighty boys! We have arrived well on time, I assure you!" The same voice called out. "I told you going through those pirate infested waters would be quick and fun, even with all of the people we lost... and the damage to the ship... and the used ammunition, but hey, we're here and we've made a damn fine impression, I assure you!"

A Grustan dock offical went up to the speaking individual, as he was turned around addressing his crew. "Excuse me sir, but may we ask who-"

"And who the hell are you?" The figure asked as he spun around on his heels.

Kokyuna Classy, in the flesh.

"Ah, a dockworker. Very convenient, as usual with Grustan." The warlord rolled his eyes. "Alright, I am the illustrious Kokyuna Classy, here for this grandiose world fair." The general turned national leader placed a hand onto the worker's shoulder. "If you would please direct me and my fine gentlemen..." He gestured his head to the guards behind him. "To the area of this fair, that would be some excellent service!"

The dockworker simply nodded quickly before turning around and waving the lord and his men to follow.

Little did Kokyuna Classy know, he parked his ship at an industrial port... Another glorious achievement by the general!

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The Kokyunian workers were complete with their own part of the celebratory grounds. There, standing semi-strong and sturdy was a glorious recreation of the Library of Alexandria. In the center was a large open plot of grass, a fountain standing at it's center along with long brick paths to the buildings on the flanking sides of the area. The poor workers had been there for nearly a year in order to get it right, as it's german architects had wanted it to be perfect... and proceeded to restart the project multiple times to get it right.

But it was finished, and they couldn't be happier with it as so much labor was put into it, even some workers dying in the process. Tensions were constantly high between the massive work force sent to build it, fights being common on the site between the different ethnicities working, but now they were all sitting back, merrily drinking as they sat and admired their work together, all of them closer from it.

Insults had been yelled, racial slurs have been called, fists thrown, bodies slammed... but that was all in the past now. Now, there was only booze and brotherhood.

...At least until Classy shows up and messes everything up somehow.

[Austadama]

Major Harold Pasi of Newcastle Associates, the faux-PMC of the Commonwealth, was having a bad day.

The deafening noise, the toxic decorations, and the blinding sunlight.

Oh the sunlight.

Major Pasi may have lived in Southern Africa for twenty-five years, but he was still a pasty brit.

Who hated sunlight.

The Austadaman stall was still being built; with items like the eucalypt furnace, able to create coke from charcoal instead of coal and an exquisite rock garden made from Gippsland Coffee beans; standard world fair fare. And the giant diamond.

The Lord's Hope Diamond stood imposingly over its surroundings, as it should being the world's largest. Polished but uncut to retain its natural awe, with enough internal reflection to send beams of pure, bright light across the fair.

And right into the Major's eyes.
Pasi tried to look professional, standing guard with his eyes closed; until a solitary cloud scudded in front of the sun, which revealed something far worse, something insidious and foul: Chieftain Nakel Corman of the Commonwealth People's Assembly, swanning his way towards him.

"Major"

"Chief"

"As excellent a job you are doing keeping guard, I'm afraid Lieutenant Keitner will have to relieve you. There have been some... developments." Keitner then smugly removed herself from the Chieftain's side and stood at attention in front of Lord's Hope. Pasi was actually relieved, but Keitner was smug in just about everything she did.

"Talk to Reginold, my concerns have been brought to these fine East Lasanesse... 'exhibits'"

Austadama made full use of its Alliance with Grustan, with Pasi's unit residing in the local barracks. He passed four of his Red Berets on the way there, guarding a staircase for one reason or another. That was prior to seeing Maurice.

"Funny seeing You here Maurice. I thought prostitution was illegal this time of day."

"My, your wit is about as sharp as your bayonet. but what else could one expect from an Austadaman." Maurice was as acquaintance of Pasi, for all the wrong reasons.

"I'll have you know the commonwealth has a reputation for quality produce."

"did you get it before or after your ninth civil war."

"The Commonwealth has never had a civil war"

"only because you won the last one"

"that was a people's revolution"

"OH? a Coup?"

"Says someone from Moersteen. How's that steel mill of yours?"

"As barren as your women"

"I suppose both are smoking hot at the moment."

Pasi left Maurice to simmer at that; and decided to continue to barracks, passing his men along the way. Their dark skin and red berets shone in the sunlight, and contrasted with the tones of Linquett, making them stand out to anyone who saw.




At least until Sunset.

[Terradore]

The embassy of the Empire of Terradore in Linquett was an imposing building to say the least, surrounded on all sides by a high granite gray wall which lead into a massive courtyard before a great the marble facade of the embassy. The embassy was one part business affairs center one part luxury villa. It was home to Alecto Marius Theodocia Terradore second cousin to the Emperor of Terradore, Flavian Tempestus Theodocia Terradore, and the Imperial ambassador Grustan.

While some would have considered the post an honor Alecto despised his job. It was a dismal post his dear cousin had thrust upon him to keep him out of the way and limit his options. Everywhere he looked outside he saw the disgusting foreign filth of Grustan. Eldar, not only openly in the streets but in offices of high power. It disgusted him.

Then there were other matters...

"Ambassador," a sharp hard military voice said from behind him.

He quickly a fixed a smile to his face before turning to face the speak. General Verrus Comminos of the elite fourteenth legion was an imposing figure clad in full military dress and accompanied on either side by two Varangian Guardsmen.

"Yes general?" He asked keeping his tone polite.

"I wanted to inform you that my men are quartered and taken care of," the General replied. "We will be more than ready for the parade."

"General please," Alecto said with a sniff. "You did not come in person to trouble me with such minor details. What are you really here for?"

The General frowned and then pulled an envelope from the pocket of his great coat. He presented it to Alecto and the ambassador grimaced. A fixed to the letter was the Imperial seal.

"The Emperor has a critical message for your eyes only," the General said.

Alecto took the envelope and tore it open. He pulled out the letter inside and began to read it quickly. Once he was done he threw it into the fire place.

"Fucking Grustan!" He snarled. "Fucking barbarians!"

"Bad news I take it," the General asked.

"Fuck you as well general!" Alecto snarled storming off.

[Sar-Fenway]

The Sar-Fenwain High-Minister Iosolf Rolyat stood on the balcony of Sar-Fenway's beautiful embassy in Linquett. He gazed across the parade grounds with all of the nations trying to outdo each other in an attempt to be "the best".

The High-Minister sighed and brushed some dust off of his uniform. The scarlet tunic stood out in contrast to the black trousers with a red stripe down the seam of each leg. On his shoulders, he adorned golden epaulets and a golden ribbon going from his left shoulder to the right-hand side of his hip. Attached to the end of the ribbon, his sword. The sword in question was a Katana roughly 70 cm in length. Upon his chest he wore row after row of medals he had gained by leading armies as a general before turning to politics, they shone brilliantly, recently polished by his maidens.

He turned and strode towards the double doors before him. Two guards emerged from the shadows and followed behind on his flanks. They too wore the scarlet tunic and black trousers with red seams. However their epaulets were a bright silver with golden tips, depicting their membership of the Elite Guards Regiment. And in their hands, they each carried a Nodachi (each a meter in length).

High-Minister Iosulf Rolyat left the embassy and headed for the parade grounds, More guards followed, some were equipped with ornamental rifles to ward of any ranged attacks. They marched behind him without question and only stopped when he stopped, which wasn't until they had reached their allotted space of the parade grounds where a large Sar-Fenwain style mansion (Japanese style) had been erected using only the finest resources and furnished with the finest furniture. It was a beautiful building, designed by Sar-Fenway's greatest architect and built by the best craftsmen in the country.

Iosulf entered the prestigious building and was followed by only half the guards (the one's with Nodachi's); the rest of the guards took up positions around the building, stood at attention. The guards stayed put, even in the sweltering heat.

High-Minister Rolyat had always enjoyed competition, especially the competitions as of which he expected to see later, between the ex-Salitovian colonies. He smiled and poured himself some whiskey.

[Stjerne]

Linquett, former capital of the Salitov Empire. A city of designed to impress the world with the wealth and culture of the what is now the Grustonian Empire.

"Such a waste." said Foreman Olaf

Unfortunately, it only works if the people it is being shown to care about that kind of thing.

"What?" asked Ambassador Ragnar

"The resources needed to construct and maintain this city, it's a waste. The resources here could be put to much better use instead of being wasted on such a gaudy display." Olaf replied.

"We really shouldn't criticize our hosts, it's rude." lectured Ragnar.

"Fine, but I still have my opinions on the matter" retorted Olaf.

"How are our exhibits?" Ambassador Ragnar queried in an attempt to change the subject.

"The demonstration of solar energy has already been set up and the helikopter is still in its crate under heavy guard." replied Olaf.

"Good, we can ill afford the embarrassment and the loss of face if our exhibits are damaged or stolen." Stated Ragnar. "Or worse our technology ending up in the wrong hands."

"Do you think that the Caroleans will be able to provide enough security? I'd hate for even our older tech to get stolen."

"They'll have to do. We can't afford to bring anymore of our troops over even if the Grustonians would let us. Not with how aggressive Terradore has been."

[The Caroleans, named after the exiled Salatovian general that lead Stjernean forces in the Stjernean Rebellion or 'The Bloodless War,'' are the mainline infantry of the Stjernean military. The ones in guarding the Stjernean pavilion are armed with Model 10 revolvers and the brand new, and rather rare, Auto-5 shotgun.
Of course, only a fool doesn't have a second line of defense. Which is why the Caroleans are secretly being backed up by plain clothes Stormen Kappen, the elite of Stjerne's ground forces. The Stormen Kappen specialize in irregular, urban, and mountain warfare, but that's not important right now.]

"I still can't believe how much our pavilion looks like the engineering wing at one of our universities." Observed Ragnar as he looked down the comparatively spartan walls of the structure.

"That's because it essentially is the engineering wing at one of our universities."

"Come again?" asked a confused Ragnar

"Almost all of our buildings are prefabricated structures. We just brought along the 'palettes' for the standard university engineering wing with a dedicated medical facility." Olaf explained.

"Ah, that explains it. Though, I don't recall armed guards ever being on campus. It's a bit unsettling." responded Ragnar, a slight shiver going down his spine.

"That's one thing we can definitely agree on. It seems wrong to have the military in these halls. But, we really don't have a choice in the matter. It's either the guards or risk all of our equipment disappearing in the middle of the night." sighed Olaf.

"Hopefully this will all be worth it. Maybe it'll usher in a new era peace." stated a hopeful Ragnar.

"Don't hold your breath. I may not have access to the teams of analysts you guys in the government get, but even I can see there's a massive storm brewing." cynically replied Olaf.

"We can still dream, can't we?" responded Ragnar, as he gazed skyward

"Yeah, but I really hope that this isn't our last, best hope for peace." grumbled Olaf as he went back to finish the final preparations for Stjerne's contribution to the World's Fair.

[Moersteen]

With the construction of the Moerish pavilion finished, President Ishmael Mansur reviewed the work of the dwarven and orcish laborers. The design reflected the Ottoman influence that dominates Moerish architecture.

A single rectangular building of moderate height stood before a persian garden. The garden was simple: a large rectangular pool with chrysanthemums lining its perimeter, and the walkways around the pool leading to the building had a rose mosaic running through it. Two domes were situated next to each other on the roof of the building, and four minarets stood on the corners of the roof. The interior of the establishment had its walls filled with mosaics of Moerish history, focusing on the cavalrymen of old that secured Moersteen's many victories and its independence. On the second floor there was a small library, with the subject of the books varying between science, history, and language.

However, the janissaries at the entrance currently prevent anyone from seeing anything inside. Most of which was a stock of vaccines, antitoxins, and research papers ready to be donated to the other countries attending the fair. In the meantime, Moerish cuisine was being sold in front of the pavilion for those wishing to taste something new.

He went inside the pavilion, the janissaries opening the door for him. A few curious folk tried to get a look at what was inside before the doors closed.

Nodding to a few guards that were in the immediate vicinity of the door, he walked past them and made his way towards the stairs. He felt a bit tense about the fair and wanted to be in seclusion for a bit. In comparison to what the other nations brought, what he brought to the table wasn't exactly impressive. He had reassured himself that the medicine was significant and would put other nations to shame, but he felt like he was lying to himself in that regard.

Regardless of how much praise it receives, at least it was something.

[Morskiej]

Representative Świętomierz Patryk Sokolsky observed workers pushing the Avro IV under the boom lines for preparation to be hoisted onto the raised display stand for the aircraft. It was the central piece of the display, its experimental design had proved quite successful and in a few months it was slated to have a few more produced for further design testing. The workers were doing a good job on setting everything up and the building itself was nearing completion. Not as fancy as the others, but not a stale dryness like that of Stjerne's, it was simple, sturdy, and giving just enough touching up to be of quaint attractiveness. He was brought out of his observation by the sound of someone approaching, he turned to the man whom popped a quick salute and immediately began speaking.

"Mr. Sokolsky, I am Porucznik* Czajkowski of the Straż Międzynarodowe* and an in command of overseeing the wellbeing of this installation, its displays, and Morskiejian citizens within." He said with a calm professionalism while gesturing to other guards that he had assigned stations. Like the rest of the Straż Międzynarodowe he was clad in a pine green top and maroon trouser uniform, the shoulder board simply bearing three silver stars. The young officer had on his pistol marksmanship badge, a service medal and a medal of valour, around his waist was a white service belt adorned with a standard issue Model 1892 revolver and ammunition pouch. Czajkowski straightened his belt and continued, "I apologise my tardiness with introductions, but I was needed to escort Ms. Philharmonica to the installation."

"That isn't a problem Porucznik, I trust that your endeavour didn't encounter any problems?" Sokolsky asked with slightly raised brows, an incident involving her could cause problems that he really didn't desire to deal with.

"Yes, sir. Aside from some deviations at her request to look around it was quite routine and uneventful." The Porucznik said, almost somewhat disappointed, Sokolsky might've even suspected that he knew why.

"Very well Porucznik, carry on, I'm sure you have other duties to be attending. Oh, and before you go, can you work on not calling this place an installation? It's a fair exhibition not a military base after all." Sokolsky said with a slight smile, nodding towards the soldier.

The man nodded and walked off at a brisk pace. Sokolsky watched him for a few more moments before turning back to watching the work going on around. The Avro having been moved into position and the boom lines connected to the structural hard points, the workers were getting ready to lift the aircraft and move it onto the showcase stand. He turned his attention elsewhere, taking sight of the soldier's previous charge as she was prepping the musicians and getting everything in order. They were to play some of her own works, as well as Morskiej's most successful pieces, and a rather... unconventional, but uplifting song to go with the Avro. His gaze continuing on over the rest of the exhibits, new small arms set to be introduced for the military, new industrial machinery set to increase the nation's industrial productivity, complicated lathes, mills, and other tools sat polished and new, their cover plates removed to give the interested a view of the inner workings.

It was a decently diverse set he concluded, even if it could've been more so, there's only so much space to work with.





Octavia sighed as she looked over her shoulder at the two guards constantly following her around, she muttered her discontent quietly. A guard took notice of this and went to give his apologies.

"I'm sorry ma'am, but the orders are from the Lead Representative himself, as his wife we can't allow anything to happen to you." The young guard said giving her a apologetic look, Octavia understood but she still didn't particularly enjoy it, but seeing as he couldn't have been older than 18 she tried to give him some slack, he probably wasn't fond of the position either.

She put it out of her mind for now and went back to making sure the band was properly coordinated for the upcoming performances, checking the seating layout to get the best acoustics from the area and that the instruments were in tune and functioning properly, no frayed strings, and well-oiled valves etc.

Everything had to go off without a hitch, and it was definitely going to be a long day.



*
Porucznik = Equivalent of First Lieutenant
Straż Międzynarodowe = International Guard.

[Terradore]

Alecto set down his pen and stared for a moment at the message he had drafted for the foreign minister of Grustan. He was in his private study at his home in the embassy. Books lined the walls along with expensive art work from home. His desk was a true work of art having been cut from a single tree from Faewood and carved with images of the Empire's various triumphs.

He had tried to keep his message as polite and brief as he could allow making the urgency of the matter clear. Satisfied with his work he tapped the bell on his desk. Almost instantly his assistant, one Maria Trikoupis, stepped inside.

"You rang my lord?" She asked smoothing out the folds of her skirt.

"I need you to have this delivered to the Grustonian Foreign ministers office at once," he said. "Ensure that no one else reads it understood?"
She nodded and took the letter from him.

"Also," he added. "Bring me a bottle of Red Moon red on your way back."

"Of course my lord," she said.

He sent her away with a wave of his hand and then turned to stare out the window down at the rear courtyard. The rear courtyard of the embassy doubled as a drill and muster yard for the embassy guards thus it was usually filled with soldiers on parade drill. Right now however it played host to Terradore's piece de-resistance for the World's fair.

Parked in perfect formation were five automobiles each one sporting a large machine gun on its back which could be manned and used to provide fire on the move. Terradorians knew how brutal trench warfare could be from their wars with Alvia. Massed assaults against trench lines in the face of machine gun fire and artillery, costly endeavors any way one sliced it.

Speed and industrial machinery would soon tip the scales in favor of the Empire. The age of the horse was in its twilight hours. The future of war would be waged with machines, fast machines, heavily armed machines, heavily armored machines, weapons that could withstand rifle fire and advance on the foe unhindered.

Still such technology was still on the drawing board at the moment. For now these new toys would be a preview of the power and might that Terradore would wield in the years to come.

[Salitov]

The Salitovian exhibit was dark at the moment, still being set up by serfs for the Fair with artwork and other cultural artifacts from the Homelands, with something large in the center, watched over by several soldiers and drapped in cloth to hide it until it was unveiled, something new that would hopefully give Salitov some measure of prestige back since its fall from grace.

One Vyacheslav Kamarov was in charge of the event, appointed by the Tsar himself to oversee it for him, his recent illness preventing him from going personally, Kamarov shifted around uneasily, as a the Salitovian represenitive he had alot of pressure to make sure everything went according to plan. He looked at the stage, religious artwork from the Imperial Era was placed besides historical items such as the sword of the nations founder, while newer pieces from after the Civil War were soon joining them, the stage soon becoming quickly packed.

"Chert...looks like we are overcompensating again..." he muttered to himself, fishing a flask out of his rather plain coat and taking a swig, the serfs paying no mind to this, the Kamarovs rather famous back home for their rather laidback and casual approch to things.

He took another swig, his nerves still getting to him, the last thing he wanted was to return home to explain how badly the fair went for Salitov "And knowing those bloody elves, they gonna take every chance to do so, chert poberi...."

[Grustan]

Akin to a shining beacon amidst the gloom, the Accendo rose high above the sprawling city of Linquett. Stunning marble walls were set about in numerous rings surrounding the centre palace, all of which contained picturesque gardens, exquisite artwork, and a large military presence. Soldiers patrolled around the palace with warm smiles and friendly gestures, making idle play with men and women alike; jests, jokes, and jabs. Today was a day to celebrate, a day to uphold. Everyone knew this. Grustan was hosting the World Fair and this was their chance to show off, to make good with friends, and heal old strife. Of course not all were so jovial, some of the soldiers shunted their flirty fellows, barking orders or light insults.

Throughout the large and often cavernous palace courtyards, gardens, and great halls, there were many women. Servant girls of the finest quality. Beautiful maidens who knew both craft and culinary arts. Some of them worked as maids, some were painters, some spent their time playing sports, and some were even trained in the art of Akatsuki: the angel of death. For this reason, the Accendo was a mixture of pleasure and pain for all who entered. Halls were not only filled with finery and scantly clad women, but soldiers, assassins, cutthroat officials, and even the esteemed Veterani Emeriti. For these very reasons, when Emperor Auberon sat upon his throne with a woman draped either side, he felt nothing but control. He was Emperor. He was power incarnate. Youngest son of Shiina, champion of divinity.

"Your highness," said a young man who had recently entered the throne room. He was knelled with a balled fist across his chest in salute. "I have a matter of menial importance, but the Lord Cullen insisted you see to it." Not hesitating as he stood to face the Emperor, the soldier continued. "Supposedly, the guests have set their stalls up and are ready for the festivities to begin."

Auberon said nothing. Instead, he reached for his wine glass and raised it to his lips with a face betraying him of pleasure. "I see," he said simply as the glass returned to his side. "That is most excellent news." A pair of dark blue eyes showed a hint of excitement, slick black hair enticed the gloom. "Wouldn't you agree, my dears?" Looking down at the two elven girls besides him, the Emperor's lip curled upwards in a smile. "You two have been waiting for this awhile, no?"

"Of course," one of the sisters said with a purr. "We have been ever so eager to accompany you through the fair. Isn't that right, Miia?" Turning to face her sibling, the servant on the left removed herself from Auberon's side. Her shapely figure walked around and behind the golden throne, coming to rest besides her other.

"Mm, yes we really have been waiting, haven't we?" replied the younger. "Rea, what do you want to do first? Shall we go see the Salitovian pigs, or poke about the Stjernean stall?" Her hands raised to meet her sisters, as she locked eyes with her. "Or maybe we coul—"

The Emperor stood to leave. "Girls, enough," he said with a small amount of distaste. The stigma against Salitov ran strong in servants: something he was working to stomp out. "Young man," he said in a commanding tone, addressing the messenger. "See to it that Lord Cullen is made aware of my departure. We shall soon begin the fair, once certain... measures, are seen to."

"Ryokai!" the man said with a grunt, saluting for a moment before turning and walking off.

Moving to stand besides the throne, the two servants made their way over to the Emperor. "Otousama," called the eldest as she wrapped herself around his arm. "What are you planning to do?"

"Isn't it obvious, my dear?" he said cheerfully as he ran a hand through her hair. "I will go out, I will greet our guests, and I will smile." Joined by his second daughter whilst he walked toward the room's exit, he grinned. "A smile paints a picture, and a picture is worth a thousand words. For my smile shines radiant, and my clothes are the finest in the land: I have a beautiful woman on each arm, and a palace fit for gods." That grin became a smile, and his eyes brightened in anticipation. "And my smile will sing, 'look upon us with cheer, for we are the rich, the greatest of all.'"

"And if they would rather stab you than smile back?"

Auberon looked down at the girls, and his smile became that of scorn. "Then you plant your blade so far within their chests as to eviscerate their souls."

[Les Habitants]

Ambassador Monsiure Lemot watched as the large Copper Cross was mounted atop the pavilion then, confident that the workers had everything under control, ran to his stagecoach and directed the driver to take him to the Stjerne Pavilion, diplomacy wasn't put on hold just because of the fair.

He watched out the coaches window as they approached the Pavilion. It was certainly not the most extravagant building, given that it was a recreation of a University wing. It almost seemed like Stjerne was going out of its way to not be noticed.

Fair enough, considering the horrifically over extended mass hungrily watching it from the north.

The stagecoach came to a stop and Monsiure Lemote hopped out and showed his ID to a near by Carolean, "I would like to see Mr. Ragnar, political business."

[Terradore]

Verrus Comminos had served in the Imperial legion for thirty years. He had been a major at the start of the Conquest of Alvia with a thousand men at his back. By the end of the war twelve years later he had taken command of the most distinguished legion of the war, the Fighting Fourteenth.

They had been the first through the gates of Rosemont, the first on the beach at the island fortress of Zaft, and the Legion that had raised Terradore's banners over the Castle of Maiden's Doom, Alvia's last strong hold. In that twelve year period of conflict the fourteenth had become the single most decorate legion in the Imperial army. They had taken more than five times their number prisoner, inflicted more than sixty thousand casualties, and suffered only forty percent losses throughout the entire war.

Now here he was standing outside Terradore's stall at the worlds fair like some glorified sentinel. He wondered just who up the chain of command he had angered to given this shit job.

Terradore's stall was a pavilion of a sumptuous Imperial purple. A 1:3 scale statue of a Wyvern cast in bronze and trimmed with gold stood at the entrance under the Imperial banner. Inside the wealth of Terradore was on display; craft works of gold leaf, the finest wines from around the empire, masterwork pottery hand crafted by artisans, jewelry, weapons, textiles, and a selection of dishes prepared by master chefs.
To his distaste however his soldiers had been charged with providing the majority of the services inside of the pavilion. For some absurd reason slavery was illegal here and to avoid an incident the ambassador had judged it to be in "poor taste" to have slaves man the stalls. This had of course been before he'd forgotten that his embassy staff was not sufficient to provide the labor for the pavilion.

Now he was stuck here standing outside the pavilion until the ambassador remembered that he was supposed to be handling the exhibit himself. Still he was a soldier of the Imperial and he would stand his post. Besides it did good to see them men in full dress uniform, purple and gold trimmed jackets with jet black pants. Each one wore a polished helmet plumed with gold. Upon the right breast of each man was a the Legion emblem, five Gladius swords shaped into the roman numerals for fourteen.

More than a few young ladies were turning their heads at the legionaries. Men in uniform, particularly the proud men of the 14th legion were hard to resist.

[Stjerne]

"Right this way sir." said the Carolean.

Ambassador Valdemar Ragnar watched as Ambassador Lemot was escorted to the pavilion from window. There weren't many reasons to visit, really only two.
The first, and better, possibility was that the Les Habitantsian ambassador simply wanted to discuss trade matters. Unfortunately, the second possibility was far more likely.

War.

Stjernean analysts had calculated an eighty-five percent chance of war breaking out in the next ten years and only a rounding error away from one hundrerd percent in the next twenty. The analysts had also determined that any war that exceeds two years in length would invariably draw in Stjerne in some manner.

The question then became whom would the war be with. The Commonwealth? No, the Commonwealth is currently too strong. [75% Chance of the Commonwealth weakening/breaking up due to internal stressors within 50 years.] Any attempt to engage them in war at this time would result in near unimaginable casualties and the ambassador would probably approach the more militant nations first. The N.S.F.? No, only a fool or the Commonwealth would declare war on them at this point. They would be needed for any offensive against the Commonwealth and haven't really done anything to another nation to warrant such an action. That leave only one major possiblity.

Terradore.

Ever since Alvia's fall, Terradore has been riding high on the resulting ego and resource boost. The idea of supporting Alvia in the war had been thrown around in the various debates, but it was ultimately defeated due to the high risk of expanding the war.

Since then Terrodore has maintained a ludicously large military for its size and such a system is unsustainable; especially when there isn't a war going on. Current predictions have the Empire of Terradore collapsing from internal rebellion within the next ten to twenty years unless they continued to expand.
And there are only two nations that border Terradore; Grustan, which has a massive military and numerous 'allies', and Stjerne, a nation know for its dedication to the sciences and neutrality. It didn't take the best analytical teams in the world to figure out which one they would attack. Which is why the Stjernean Armed Forces had been ordered to build up for the first time in decades.

Time to get this show on the road.

"Ambassador Lemot, to what do I owe the gelde?" greeted Ragnar.

[Les Habitants]

Monsiure Lemot gave a diplomatic smile and nod at the greeting. Somewhere else, a ambassador of Les Habitants was on the receiving end of an unscheduled meeting with an ambassador of Stjerne carrying Stjerne's copy of the sheet he currently had tucked into his coat. "Always good to see you M. Ragnar, I have some paper work for us to go over, so let us be seated." He said and took a seat in one of the smaller chairs facing the Ambassador's desk, which judging by the theme of the pavilion was supposed to be the headmaster's desk.

He pulled out the sheet of paper and lay it on the desk so that mr. Ragnar could read it. He wasn't sure how much prior knowledge Mr. Ragnar had of this document, but it was spelled out pretty clearly in the title and the actual terms what it was.

"So yeah, just sign to ensure 2 more years of mutual 30% tariff reduction*, 2 more years of us sending specialists in to update the doctrine of your Caroleans**, 2 more years of naval development cooperation***, 2 more years of intelligence sharing, and 2 more years of us coming to your aid if the Corpse on the Amazon**** declares war." He said and watched Mr. Ragnar's eyes go back and forth over each line of the document, and waited until he looked up. "So is it a deal?"

[hr]
*Les Habitants is a large exporter of raw materials.
** The first Les Habitants military mission to Stjerne found the advisors having to teach the generals of Stjerne that line infantry tactics against volley and rotary guns would amount to nothing more than a meat grinder.
***You really think that a nation with more priests than educated engineers can build Dreadnoughts on its own?
****Terradore. Les Habitants has long since viewed them as their arch rival in the west, and strongly believes that landing a large foreign force on their soil will cause the nation to rapidly disintegrate (as many of the nations absorbed into Terradore will probably take the opportunity to rebel). Although not actively seeking confrontation, all Habitants agree that defending Stjerne's independence would be worth an expedition down south.

[The National Socialist Federation]

The Federation's stall was magnificent, the tall columns reaching high into the sky, the Roman architecture standing out amongst the fair grounds, banners showing the seal of the Federation waving in the wing between the columns, a Federal Guard standing underneath each, giving their usual glares to everyone around them. Heavy oak doors were set at the top of the marble steps, wide open and allowing the light and music of the grand hall spill out.

Inside, chandeliers hung from the tall ceiling, casting a bright glow throughout the hall, illuminating the massive mural that spanned the entire room's walls, starting from the left and ending at the right, depicting the days of oppression in the Salitovian Empire, the rise of the National Socialist Party, the rebellion, Unification Wars, and all the way throughout the rest of Federation history to the rise of the current High-Chancellor. Underneath but still set a few feet away from these murals were long tables full of food and drink from the homeland. At the back sat an elevated platform, steps on all sides leading up to the musicians, filling the hall with the sound of Moonlight Sonata.

To the left and right of the platform were heavy oak doors, open like the ones at the front of the hall, both leading to clearings on either side of the building. Behind the left most door was the larger of the two clearings, going for a good hundred yards out, light posts illuminating the area which was flanked on all sides by current Federation artillery pieces, from the seventy-six millimeter to the large eight-inch siege guns, all of them decommissioned and all seemingly manned by still figures, mannequins placed in uniform and put into positions to make it seem as if they were in the midst of battle. In the center was a wall, lining it was uniforms and weaponry dating back to the Salitovian-era to the modern day, plaques set up with information detailing each piece.

Through the right door was an enclosed clearing, just as large as first, but inside an area covered by nets was a massive aviary, trees that had to be brought as seedlings were still young and yet large enough for dozens of species native to the Federation to fly about, even the nation's official animal, the Iron Eagle, could be seen soaring through the enclosed space, sometimes being called down by their handlers to entertain the guests so that they may get a closer look at the magnificent bird of prey.

All throughout the main hall and clearing were Federal Guards, their crisp, black uniforms looking sharper than usual, their ceremonial sabers glinting in the light given off by chandeliers and lamp posts, Lugers at their side, and steely gazes scanning the crowds for nay wrong-doers, their sights usually landing on the non-Imperial guests, having to fight back sneers of disgust.



Their disgust was shared by their High-Chancellor, having to force himself to smile as he spoke with an Eldar girl, nodding along as she spoke, even going as far as to compliment her. She did look nice, he had to admit, but she was no Imperial, and that fact alone made him hate her mere presence. Luckily though, he was saved by Ptresk, his adviser, whispering into his ear a suggestion he didn't like one bit. He excused himself from the Eldar girl and motioned for Ptresk to follow him to a more sparsely populated corner of the hall, Federal Guards moving to clear out whoever was there at the wave of a hand from Alec and making sure none of the more snoopy guests got close.

"Ptresk," Alec glared down at his adviser. "Why on this great green earth would I go and talk with that dictator let alone abomination? I don't even want to be in the same room as him!" He hissed through his teeth, his face growing red.

Ptresk shifted nervously under his glare. "Sir, it is a mere suggestion that you would go and speak with the Emperor, it may help us look much better in the eyes of the Grustanians and he is the one hosting us here, after all." He finished, believing he had made a reasonable yet short argument.

Alec thought this over, his face returning to it's normal color. Ptresk made a good point, and Alec had let his anger get the better of him quickly, having the same mindset as his people. When Salitov fell from grace, the world merely traded dictators, this time it was ruled by a line of sub-species Eldar, but that sub-species Eldar had been the one to host him and his people for the fair, it would be a horrible political blunder to not at least thank the damned Emperor.

"Very... very well, Ptresk," Alec sighed, "Go and find the Emperor and tell him that I would like to thank him in person for the opportunity for this little get together." Alec thought about one more thing before sending Ptresk on his way. "And take those two with you," He said, gesturing to the two Federal Guards keeping their corner clear. "They'll keep you from having any unwanted attention. Now go," He waved Ptresk off.

"I will return shortly, High-Chancellor." He said, back to his bland and monotone voice, walking away and giving a quick order to the guards to follow him, off the find the Emperor.

Alec watched him until he disappeared out the door, rubbing his face and putting on a fake smile again, going off to mingle with the crowd once more, watched over by the Federal Guard. Hopefully the developing headache wouldn't be too bad...

[Austadama]

Chieftain Mathias Tramelo swanned his way through the Imperial Palace, his Red Berets sparse and relaxed, knowing they were safe and welcome in the heart of Grustan. He found himself on one of the many balconies overlooking the unfolding events.

" any minute now...

Major Pasi's boots clicked as he ascended the stairs, coming aside to the nonchalant Chieftain. "Sir-"

"Mathias"

"Yes... Mathias" Things were so much easier with the viceroy

"Things are getting tense. The racial divisions are getting violent, there's talk of war during a world fair and I can smell the East Lasanesse from here."

"War eh? between who? I want to be the first to think of a snappy name."

"The world."

"The World! No much room there. It's really just a... world war."

"Well there's Stjerne, Les Hab and Terradore."

"Really? You claim to hail from the best special forces in the hemisphere to tell me that Terradore isn't popular in the Americas? Nothing will come of it, talking about war is just how politicians blow off steam; and even if there is war, why does it matter? The twentieth century is filled with opportunity! Trade is flourishing, technology is exploding; in both senses of the word, Austadama is uniting and this world fair is showing to be the greatest pissing contest the world has seen!" He bellowed from the balcony; drawing looks from the courtyard.

"And have you no concerns if we get invaded? Oktavi? Moerstein? Terradore?" They speak of armoured cars, and aeroplanes and warships! How are to stand against them?"

"We have Grustan and Grustan has us. Besides; the world's leaders are deluded."

The Chieftain turned around and put his hands behind his back, taking on a much more sinister tone than his larger than life, boisterous normality.

"Weapons come and weapons go. They do not win wars. It is men who win wars, and the Commonwealth has the most hardy in the world. Our lands are harsh and fertile, it breeds exotic produce and strong soldiers. Tariffs choke the global economy: CPET trades with each other freely; besides it's not in battle the twentieth century will be decided, it will be a war of ideas, a war for the enlightened, the resilient and the brave to win."

"It's also a time of assassinations, mass destruction and distrust. And what about the nonhumans everyone over where frets themselves over!"

"Major!-"

"There's going to be riots during the fair, I know it!"

"So? let them. Let it spill into the schools and the churches; let the bodies pile up in the streets! A new world is forging and the blind and ignorant will be left behind."

"The blind and ignorant happen to rule half the world."

"And? the sound they make rattling their cages will make a warning for the rest. Major," The group having ascended to a higher, more secluded area of the palace, "I know you won't, but try to relax. It's the world fair!" He said, surveying the many Red Berets, gathered in the shadows of Linquett's square. With their abundance, store owners pooled their money together and hired their protection for whole blocks, during the crime spree the fair would surely attract. This coupled with their close ties to Grutan's military gave the Red Berets unprecedented access to the city's sensitive information.

"Enjoy it while it lasts! the most respected institutions of power are holding the soldiers as the pinnacle of Civilisation, while dressing them as peacocks (he said, while wearing leopard print himself) and shoving sticks up their asses! Now, disperse. The Emperor will open festivities soon, and I want catch a glimpse of some of those Eldar Women."

The only democratically elected leader of the common wealth.

[Melkrivier]

Her Highness Ingrid Incendio IV, sister of the holy emperor of Melkrivier, looked at the Melkrivierian exhibition with a tinge of pride. It showed a scaled replica of the Shrine of Judgement, an ancient Melkrivierian architectural marvel composed of six white marble pyramids sorrounding a black marble obelisk known as the Shi'ra-Ten.

She felt a small hand tug the end of her sleeve.

"Mommy, when is my uncle going to get here?" asked the little girl to her right.

"I don't know Alia, he was supposed to be here twenty five minutes ago." She turned towards two of the four bodyguards that accompanied her. "Take care of Alia, I'll return in a moment." She wispered into their ears. With a nod, the burly bodyguards positioned themselves behind Her Highness's duaghter. She pointed to the two other guards "You two, come with me." She ordered.

She kneeled and held her daughter's cheek "I'm going to go see if I can find any information on his delay. Stay here, and listen to the misters in black, okay?" She said. A quick nod from her child was a sufficient response.

Ingrid headed to the outer edge of the fair, passing through the Grustan area. As she saw the servants in unconcealing outfits, a blush found its way unto her face. Public indecency of such magnitude would've been more than frowned upon in Melkrivier.

Upon reaching the western edge of the fair, a zeppelin sporting a familiar flag flew into view. After some time of careful precision in landing, the zeppelin unboarded it's passengers, namely: A load of functionaries, even more bodyguards, and the emperor himself, Apollo Incendio.

Ingrid merely delivered a stern glare toward her brother.

"Don't look at me like that" Said Apollo with an imposing posture. "It's a miracle we got this blasted contraption working. Wether there were complications or not should be the least of your worries."

"You're late." Was all that Ingrid replied "I suspect the emperor of Grustan will be upset."

"I thought something like this might happen," begun Apollo "so I've already prepared an apology gift. Our men should be unloading it any time now. I require that this event go along with utmost perfection."

[The Kokyuna Clan]

Kokyuna Classy and his two guards followed the dockworker into the city, completely standing out of place wherever they went. Their heavy and thick footsteps echoed loudly, especially with the rather aggressive way that they walked. This of course, proceeded to make the dockworker very tense about the whole situation.

Grustonian citizens and even guards simply stayed out of the way, letting them pass by. They were well informed of the infamous Kokyuna Classy, the word of his conquered nation joining the Commonwealth being a rather big trend as it was only formed barely over a year ago. The people knew that -to simply put it- a madman was ruling over Northeastern Africa.

"Um, here we are, sir." The dockworker nervously stated, as he gestured forward into the large octangular festival area.

"Ha ha! This is it!" The general stated walking forward into the area, now having the city's actual light and glow cast down upon him. His outfit was finally revealed and it was... rather eye-drawing to be simple. He wore a set of old dark red samurai armor with a black jinbaori surcoat overtop of it. For his leggings, he wore black slacks. Upon the top of his short cut black hair, sat a red kepi with some gold embroidery upon it's front side. Upon his hips though, sat an arrangement of weapons that melded together two cultures.

He had a katana, the handle painted red which sat on his left hip along with an old fashioned Bavarian Court sword on hir right hip. Above both of the swords sat a pair of Webley revolvers, supplied as of recent by the Grustonians.

His guards wore dark red Chevauleger Waffenrock uniforms, coming from their german heritage. They used their own personal pistols and blades, which their leader tesed himself, as with all weapons utilized by his guards.

"This is the festival that has been spoken about for such a long time!" The general turned ruler chuckled. "Oh, it's so... empty. I knew we were early!"

"Yes sir, you are in fact early. The fair has yet to fully begin." The dockworker simply stated.

"Hm..." The leader turned on his heels to face the civilian. "Well, thank you for your cooperation my good man. How about you stay near my ship down at the port and when this night is over I'll be sure to give you something for the assistance, alright?"

The dockworker slowly nodded.

"Good... NOW GET OUT OF MY SIGHT!"

With that, the man recoiled in fear before spinning around and running back down the street.

"Ah, Grustonians... as soon as you aren't all lovey dovey with 'em, they shit their pants and run." His guards nodded. "Now come along, let's see what the workers have managed to slop together here."

The trio made their way through the area, passing by all of the various servents, guards and simple civillians, soon coming upon the Kokyunian area of the fair.

There stood their version of the Library of Alexandria, along with the proud workers drinking as they looked to it.

Kokyuna Classy walked his way behind them, going unobserved by them as they were facing the opposite direction.

"WHAT IS THIS?!" He suddently shouted out in a burst of anger.

All of them jumped in surprise, turning around to fine their leader looking quite furious.

"My lord! What ever is the problem, for we will gladly-"

"What's the problem? I've got a bunch of officials here that aren't working right now dammit! Sitting around and drinking alcohol, it's a fucking disgrace!"

"But sir, we have finished..." One of the states, shyly gesturing to the large building.

"No the hell you aren't, where are the damn statues?!"

"Statues, sir?"

"Yes, statues. No governmental area is complete without some glorious statues." He slammed a fist against his chest in pride, creating a loud thump noise.

"But, we were never told to build any-"

"Well you're going to be building some now, aren't you?"

The workers simply hung their heads down in sadness, for they ahve been working on this assignment for months, putting every fiber of their being into it. Now, instead of joining in the celebrations, they had to work further at the demand of their lord... it was depressing to say the least.

Kokyuna Classy looked at them, their expressions causing him to even feel even more bitter... and maybe just a bit empathetic. Ir reminded him of his many attempted conquests of Englore, and how he had been internally saddened by it. So much work to get so close... and yet still be so far.

With a sigh, he spoke again. "Alright fine, I'll let you guys off the hook now."

They all brightened up at this, about to rejoice at his decision.

"But if I catch you fuckers doing this shit again at another job, I'll literally gut you, understood?"

"Yes my lord!" They all stated loudly before running off.

With that, he chuckled. "They best have some fun... since I forsee a LOT of hard work in the coming times."

Kokuna Classy then sat himself down on the low wall of the outer edge of the Library's courtyard.

"Might as well give the legs some rest and wait for this shindig to start up."

[Philanthropic Deseret]

Despite delays, the emissary from the Republic of Philanthropic Deseret, Saul Tygon, arrives with the envoy of volunteer workers and generous heaping of samples of food from the Flower of Deseret, the main distributor of domestic and foreign aid.

Saul wipes off his sweaty brow as his vehicle approaches the fair. Next to him, his friend and bodyguard, Andre Henderson said, "You seem nervous."

Saul turns to Andre and replied, "If you asked my Mama that I'd be leading International Diplomacy today, she'd just laugh, rest her weary soul."

Andre pats Saul's shoulder, and said, "I'm sure she'd be proud of you anyway."

Saul nods, and said, "It's a tall order to present ourselves as a strong yet kind people, one formed from the desert and brush."

Andre looks outside to the countryside, admiring the view. He straightens his coat and finally said, "We'be come a long way from the Handcart trails those pioneers forged."

Andre adds, "And we've still got a long way to go."

Saul said, "Don't remind me. Negotiating nonagression pacts and trade agreements with everyone we can manage, and hopefully improve our global standing while we're at it."

Andre whistled and said, "Quite the tall order for a farm boy."

Saul said, "I know.

That's why they picked me.

Just a down-to-earth country boy with all the optimism and goodwill that they thought would be good for a diplomat."

Andre chuckled, stretched a bit, then said, "And now he's getting jittery from the responsibility."

Saul just shot Andre a look, and Andre busts out laughing. Andre again pats Saul shoulder and says, "You'll be fine. Me and the rest of the team are with you all the way."

The ride slowed, and ultimately stopped. Saul got out, and with a prayer in his heart and training in his mind, he proceeds inside the fair, flanked by his fellows.

I'm the diplomat of The Republic of Philanthropic Deseret, and we bring you goodwill.I'm the diplomat of The Republic of Philanthropic Deseret, and we bring you goodwill. I'm the diplomat of The Republic of Philanthropic Deseret, and we bring you goodwill. I'm the diplomat of The Republic of Philanthropic Deseret, and we bring you goodwill.

Saul swallowed his nervousness.

Time to make my family proud.

[Grustan]

Bjorn bowed before the Emperor as he walked appeared around a corner. He had his daughters with him. The Spymaster contained a small amount of bile as he tried to push that out of his mind. No daughter would commit such lustful acts, let alone be ranked as a He was cut off from his train of thought as Auberon placed a hand on his shoulder. "Spymaster!" he said in an audible tone. "Fancy seeing you here. You returned from Exteriterra faster than expected." Clapping his hands together as Bjorn rose, the Emperor stepped closer and grimaced. "Did you find anything useful?" he said in a hushed tone.

"They know," he said simply as they began to walk. "I received a report when I was on my return, it was concerning a raid that had been undertaken. Our weapons were found amongst the items retrieved." Bjorn cracked his knuckles aimlessly as they strolled down the hall and out into a large open expanse, one of the many palace gardens. His trained eyes ignored the beautiful women around him. Now wasn't the time. "Our... tomodachi near the border are gone, too."

Auberon nodded slowly as his right hand man, and close friend, spoke. When he'd finished, the young Emperor let out a small sigh of disappointment. "You'd assume they'd be better at hiding our toys. It's one thing to put our sigil on everything we manufacture: it's another to put it on illegal exports." Rolling his shoulders in their sockets and straightening his clothes slightly, Auberon smiled. "At the very least, I presume loose ends were taken care of?"

Bjorn smiled, a rather gruesome smile, and nodded once. "None of our friends in that specific part of Exteriterra will be playing Sar-Fenwain whispers any time soon." Bowing once more and walking back inside the palace, the Spymaster Bjorn spared one last look at the Emperor. With one woman wrapped around his arm, and another a few paces behind him, anybody might've thought it was a rather unsafe way to spend an evening amongst foreigners.

But they'd never seen either of the girls gut a heretic.

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The scarlet sky overhead cast a gentle glare across the Accendo Parade Grounds, mixing with the numerous structures and pieces of equipment that had been set up. A light breeze carried the scent of roses and amaranth, warmly brushing against the faces of thousands. The World Fair certainly had attracted the attention of the citizens. Auberon had seen a brief glimpse of the crowd as he'd been escorted to the Grustonian Presentation, but it sounded as if even more people had gathered.

"Otousama," Miia said into his ear softly. "Are you feeling well? Crowds have always made you... uneasy." Her hands traced up his arm for a moment, before he stood to leave. Casting a stern glare down at the servant girl, the Emperor waited patiently as she fastened his clothing for him. "What exactly do you plan to say?"

There was a long silence as the Emperor chewed his words. "I will tell them the truth," he said simply. Taking in a deep breath of air, and releasing it with a small amount of control, the young host put on his best crowd-pleasing smile. It was a smile that said: "I own you, so enjoy yourselves." His broad shoulders sported a short cloak with a thick golden trim, arranged in a simple pattern. A badge with the symbol of Grustan was set into it, also. Thick long sleeves ended with bulky cuffs, with a pair of small gloves covering his scarred hands. Black boots rang out against the marble as he stepped out into the open, his royal finery and smile putting the guests into silence.

Let alone the fact he was flanked by two scantly clad women.

"Hello, hello, and welcome to the Fifteenth World Fair! I, the Emperor of Grustan and head of the Grustonian Commonwealth, would like to cordially invite you to partake in tonight's events." With a wide smile on his face, Auberon raised his hands up and spread them slightly, in sign of invitation. "This year, we Grustonians have many things to offer our guests. Both soldier and citizen may come browse our fine arts, sample our wines, partake of our foods, and perhaps even speak with me personally. Or maybe, if you so dare, view our fine display of naval advances; and listen to a lecture on our submarine technology."

His smile dipped slightly as he dropped his voice a tone. "But why stop there? There are many other fine wonders on display this evening. Whether it is the Stjernean 'solar panel', the Salitovian arts, a sample of Moersteen cuisine, or even the harrowing tales of the National Socalist's history... you are sure to be entertained and astounded." Brining his hands together as his face brightened once more, the Emperor gave a small clap. Moments later, one of his servant girls brought him a glass of wine.

Raising the glass high enough for the crowd to see, he spoke once more. "Tonight, we drink to our company. We drink in the hopes of a brighter future, however it may be attained, and to our guest's and our own continued health. We dance with one another to express things beyond mere words, and share out cultures to foster better understanding." As the evening finally set in, and the sun passed the horizon, The Emperor of Grustan banged his hand against the balcony railing. "A toast! To Grustan! To her friends! To Shiina!" Taking a long drink from his glass as the crowd cheered, he looked down once more.

"By my divine right as Emperor, I hereby proclaim the Fifteenth World Fair officially open!"

[Sar-Fenway]

High-Minister Iosulf Rolyat had watched the opening speech from the top of the Sar-Fenwain stall. He applauded the speech made by the Emperor of Grustan, turned, and strode out of the room.

Iosulf made a beeline towards the Emperor's last known location, he intended to speak with him. Pushing through the crowds wasn't really a problem with four guards, each carrying Nodachi's surrounded you, as Iosulf found out, he could've gone around but wanted to "get the feel for it" and go through the crowds.

As Iosulf Rolyat got to the presentation area, he had to get through more crowds of civilians, guards, drunkards, Shiina only knows what else, before reaching the Emperor of Grustan.

"Emperor Auberon..." The High-Minister extended his arm towards the Emperor whilst the four guards dropped down to one knee. The Emperor took Iosulf's hand and shook it. "..pleasure to meet your acquaintance." Iosulf finished with a smile.

"O hisashiburi desu ne." Replied the Emperor, smiling back at Iosulf and nodding towards the guards.

"Shall we go somewhere quiet to speak?" Requested the High-Minister, gesturing with his hands for the Emperor to lead the way towards a place where peace was possible.

"Certainly." The Emperor lead the way out of the room, women still hanging off each arm.

After getting to a quiet meeting room somewhere in the presentation area, Iosulf pulled a bottle of Sar-Fenwain whiskey out of his jacket pocket and slid it across the wood table that sat in the middle of the room.

"So, How's life in Grustan?"

[Grustan]

Auberon settled down on one of the velvet cushions set atop the tatami, he unscrewed the whiskey and took a quick whiff from the bottle, before pouring two glasses. Rea closed the shōji besides them, and they were left to the seclusion of the meeting room. Taking a small drink from his glass, the Emperor thought the question over. "It has been good, very good in fact." He nodded once. "We haven't spoken since the last fair, which was in Stjerne, I believe."

"Ah yes, Stjerne." High-Minister Iosulf traced his finger around his own glass, smiling deviously. "I managed to get one of their scientists drunk enough to spill some information. Nothing major, of course. He just mentioned they were going to power the world with 'the light.'" Taking the glass and downing the contents, he laughed. "I didn't believe him then, and wouldn't now: not if I hadn't seen those solar panels for myself..."

"Their solar panels might be a wonder to behold, but your MK I is sure to rock the world!" The young emperor poured his friend another glass, while also taking a drink from his own. "A moving piece of steel on tracks, with a gun! Genius. I cannot wait to see it up close!" Auberon clapped his hands together. "What do you intend on calling such a device?"

Rolyat smirked. "I call it a tank." Drinking from his glass with a hearty gulp, the High-Minister chuckled slightly. "Though, with these plans of yours, I'm beginning to wonder if we'll ever need such 'tanks' in our wars...." Looking over at his friend, who was sat with a woman either side, the man grinned. "Not only do you have projects such as Wolfpack, but you also intend to go forward with Bismarck? Astounding."

"Quite," the Emperor said with a loose smile. Speaking of projects, however, I presume you're here for more than idle chatter. Is something the matter?"