The Iron Alliance Recruitment Summit (IC | Signup 1st)

[The-Rapture-Republic]

OOC THREAD

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The Iron Alliance Summit

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December 19th, 2021.
Kashmir Restaurant, Rapture Republic
Depth 600 Meters below the North Atlantic Ocean.


By the Order of the Supreme Chancellor John Mercer, Hero of the Rapture Republic, and Harbinger of the Aquarian Revolution, and founder of the New Order Doctrine. The Iron Alliance first and the hopeful summit has been scheduled to be commissioned at the luxurious and world-renown Kashmir Restaurant, a high-end five-star restaurant for those with wealth, hard-earned merit, and influence in the upper echelons of both local and Global Circles. That can converse with the best quality of treats from the Indian subcontinent below the North Atlantic Ocean. The Supreme Chancellor and his closest associates seek in this summit to establish an intergovernmental organization that is not driven by a shared ideology to impose upon the rest of the world in vain hopes to bring forth a utopia that will, and have only bring ruination to those forced to implement the incompatible ideology to their once sovereign society reaping the devastating consequences of it. Instead, this intergovernmental organization will be driven by true cooperation, and understanding that a better world can only from cooperation and understanding to all views so that future generations can grow up in the future that is stable, secure, and full of economic plenty to take advantage of to establish their destinies and further enrich their local communities and nations at large. As this intergovernmental organization, the Iron Alliance will only operate in a pragmatic lens to achieve this, and outcast any viewpoint that is idealist, which does not have a bearing on the physical reality.

He and his compatriots understand that this new way of operating on the international community will need further discussion and explanation to convince or merely gain intrigue if nothing else to make the Iron Alliance gain more members than what it already has currently. In their infinite grace, we wish all leaders and representatives to attend this summit in great hopes that we can change the current World Order with a New World Order that stands as an alternative that will benefit all and not a just few.

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After the announcement was published worldwide prior to the exact date of the summit, the Rapture Republic would be in a state of temporary martial law as the arrangements were underway, and all industries would be mandated to follow the State's instructions to ensure that the Republic can handle an influx of the movers and shakers of the world that will be attending the meeting. The floating cargo dock that encircles the iconic Lighthouse would be extended tenfold for additional ships and serve as a landing pad for helicopters, and have a heavy presence of uniformed men and women to guard their vehicles, and with the generosity of the Republic give maintenance free of charge as the summit is held. Otherwise, the surface and not mentioned below waters of the North Atlantic recognized as Rapture's national waters would be swarmed by patrol boats on the outlook for potential trouble that would without warning be intercepted and extinguished.

Otherwise, as the Supreme Chancellor who stood at the second level of the Kashmir Restaurant's glass dome would be found with a glass of red wine, as he appreciated the marvel of Rapture and the feats of engineering that had gone into establishing a settlement born into a nation at the bottom of the ocean. It was a shame that this nation had to be born with a bloody history like most countries have been born, but that bloodstain was necessary to ensure its survival from a man who nearly brought this grand city-state to become the next lost city of Atlantis. And he was the one to ensure that man never got the opportunity and was brought to justice for his reign of madness and terror. "Your excellency, it has been relayed to me, by that cosplayer, we dare call our Minister of State Security that everything is in place, and Rapture internally is safer than it ever was. No hooligans will disrupt or taint the Fatherland's name tonight. As for the military, my brothers and sisters have successfully achieved that our guests will have smooth sailing, and flying to our humble docks." High Marshal Aerial Mercer reported, getting the stand to the news of the current events, and knowing that the Chancellor prefers to get to the point, without asking to get there. "Excellent news, Marshal. But please, give the Minister credit, where it is due. He is from a strange culture, and what he wears is simply an expression of where he comes from. " Chancellor John Mercer approving of the report and emphasizing the need to show respect to one's comrade, as this wasn't the time for bantering and joking about. "Understood, I shall try, and shall my damnest too." Ariel saluted, understanding the message, and nonverbally being dismissed by the Chancellor's wave of the hand.

"Everything is coming onto place, and now for the hard part, persuasion." Chancellor John Mercer said to himself as he took a sip of his glass as he watched a right whale swim by the glass, unaware of the point-defense spear turrets targeting it in case it gets too close to the window.

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The Arrivals.
North Atlantic Ocean
Lighthouse Cargo Docks.

Few hours after the conservation between the High Marshal and the Chancellor on the status of the final preparations being green to go for the guests to arrive and make themselves comfortable as surface dwellers could do, when deep below the ocean blue, and may have a case of fear from drowning from their mind betraying them on the impossibility. Given how long Rapture lasted, and the material known as Ryanium that was made to withstand the pressuring depths of the ocean. Though the secret of how it worked remained a mystery and only to a selected few in the higher echelons of the Government and Elite. Nevertheless, General Vladimir Skullus was setting in the control room of the Lighthouse which had been updated considerably to serve as the watch station for the ongoings on the floating cargo deck that surrounds the lighthouse as cargo ships come in, and offload goods to be taken to the city below the sea, and receive goods from the city to be shipped off to countries nearby and far away. It was clear skies, and all was normal, for the moment, workers would be doing their duties, and the increase of soldiers on the docks was running patrols and basic drills as the navy had boats patrolling the perimeters that couldn't be seen by the Lighthouse, at least, not visually, and only by radar and enhanced scopes.

The Air force would only have a few attack helicopters flying about, as jets were only launched for emergency purposes, and remained for the most part sealed inside the subcarriers, and the city's air-to-surface launch hangers. "It is estimated that our sea-loving land lovers will be arriving shortly so men, make sure to be on good behaviour and if anyone starts trouble. Remind them where the exit is." Vladmir said over the radio as the radar picked up vessels sea, air, and strangely enough space-born closing in on this location. "Well, it seems we may also have to be cautious with the space-loving types, but still, they won't be getting special treatment." He stated, with surprise in his voice, but keeping to the command he was given, and putting out a cigar as a few vessels came to view, and ignited it.

[Mirum]

Somewhere in the North Atlantic Ocean
Onboard MNS Executive
Approaching the Lighthouse Cargo Docks

The MNS Executive, an Executive-class Government Transport approached the docks with the intent to berth at one of them. The ship itself was 640 ft long, 76 ft wide, and had a displacement of around 13,000 tons. It was fast, luxurious, and well equipped for VIP transport. The vessel radioed in to the harbor's control center, requesting to dock.

Lighthouse Port Authority, this is the MNS Executive. We are requesting permission to berth at your docks, in order to transport a VIP and security personnel to a diplomatic meeting.

In the meanwhile, the ship continued for the docks at a moderate pace, its crew noting the helicopters and patrol boats showing up on the ship's RADAR. The VIP onboard, Vice President Sindri Huba of the Republic of Mirum, sat quietly in the ship's VIP lounge, reading a book, and awaiting the ship's arrival. Soon enough, the vessel began to enter visual range, and VP Huba was informed of this over the Executive's PA system, and he walked out on deck to get a glimpse of his destination. What he saw was not a city on the water, as he initially thought it would be, but a large tower, with docks. Nothing more, nothing less. He noted this as interesting, and wondered where the city was.

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OOC:
I do hope that this was long enough for a first post. Sorry if it wasn't.

[Svenska-Britannia]

North Atlantic Ocean
HMSBS Nelson, Admiral Class
Lighthouse Dockyards

In the midst of all the vessels and aircraft of the delegates attending the Summit, a new vessel has entered and begun preparations for docking while it's VIP was prepared to disembark from the ship.

All along the decks of the Admiral Class Battleship, the sailors all had their L1A1 SLR Ceremonial Rifles while manning the rails all along the edges of the battleship as a way of respect and formality to fellow delegates in the dockyards and to the rest of Rapture. The Prime Minister of Svenska-Britannia made his way along the decks of the battleship and preparing himself to disembark once the vessel had fully docked.

"PRESENT! ARMS!" The Captain of the Battleship bellowed out through the speakers as he gave the command to the crew on deck.

The entire crew then followed the commands and presented their rifles in Ceremonial Salute all across the rails of the Battleship.

CLACK

CLACK

STOMP

Hundreds of Rifles clacked in salute, along with hundreds of boots stomping across the deck.

The rest of the Officers along with the Prime Minister gave their own salutes as a show of respect.

[The Isstu Alliance]

North Atlantic Ocean, Planet of Earth
Imperial Sentinel-Class Shuttle
Lighthouse Dockyards

Mavulis Trennig sighed as he reviewed the files complied by Imperial Intelligence on the nations attending the summit of the Iron Alliance. None of them really stood out to him as proper allies for the Imperial Remnant, but nothing could be done about it. His Regent and Supreme Commander had ordered him to attend this summit and represent the Remnant as any patriotic Imperial citizen would, he couldn't really argue against this logic. He placed the files down on the seat next to him and stood up, tightening his uniform and walking over to the door of the Shuttle as it approached the platform. He hadn't had the time necessary to read up on the country he would be visiting so unfortunately he would be going in blind, which he isn't used to. Whatever, he thought, he would easily wing this and put the Alliance on good terms with most of those attending and Regent Wildun would be happy with him.

As the Shuttle landed smoothly on the platform, you could hear the engines begin to die down. The rare panging or pinging noise popped out and slowly the door opened, revealing Mavulis and a small protective unit of Stormtroopers that had transported him. They would stay behind on the Shuttle.

He began to walk down to the Lighthouses main entrance as other foreign diplomats arrived, he hoped everything went as planned.

[Qhevak]

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Iron Alliance Diplomatic Mission, Hounds of Tindalos Insertion Group 22
Lighthouse Cargo Docks, Rapture Republic [α Quadrant]
December 19th, 2021 NSY

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The Tindalos Hounds weren’t a group known for taking things slow. After receiving confirmation to land, the YB-T Sylphid jetthopter transport would come down onto the pad at a pace barely distinguishable from a full-speed crash, many bystanders briefly diving for cover. But disposing of a third of Mach One within the space of a second was perfectly within the capabilities of the bulbous onyx dragonfly’s sixteen buzzing wings, and it touched down almost softly, with a barely audible clunk. On board, the craft’s somewhat shaken human passenger sighed and rested her head in her palms. To the synthetic microframe piloting it, such a maneuver wouldn’t have seemed like showing off at all – just a gradual, cautious landing conducted at hundred of times normal human perception – but a bit more consideration could have been nice.

The Sylphid’s back door opened, and the security detail left first - Kito and Malik a pair of hardened Tindalos warriors sporting sleek yet ornate doglike Rockhound synths just a bit larger than a man. For the sake of the conference, and with much chagrin on their part, they’d been stripped of their heavier ordnance, the missile pod removed and tail launcher capped leaving only waldo mounted assault blasters adorning their shoulders. Not to mention the multiple rows of atom-sharp diamond teeth adorning their jaws – there was no way you could convince them to remove those.

The human cargo left right after, shivering just a tinge as the thopter’s heated comfort was traded for for the freezing night air of the platform. Ilanah Dalai was a tall, dark woman with long black hair, her embroidered longcoat held tightly around her to shield from the cold. They began to walk towards the lighthouse, looking at the other arrivals as they did. They had clearly arrived quite early – only three other arrivals appeared to have shown up first, and not by a very wide margin. The Hound’s haste had it’s advantages she supposed.

A damn battleship? Someone’s showing off. Dalai thought to the two Hounds. Mirum’s ship is almost as large, but I’ll give ‘em props for not putting a full naval gun battery right next to the Lighthouse. But they weren't really much better, she supposed. She'd come from the Roc attack transport Nimkasi II currently drifting up in low orbit, which could put a quite amusing array of kill options onto her position whenever they wished. And those hundreds of soldiers! Malik thought back to her, giving an uncomfortably toothy smile. If our blasters were taken away, might just pose a threat!

A nearby aircraft, a broad winged boxy white shuttle a few times the size of their thopter, had landed near their position just a minute before, and the mission inside was just getting out as well. Dalai's personal HUD registered it as a Sentinel-class shuttle of the Isstu Alliance, a remnant of an empire that had once ruled an entire galaxy. Interesting bunch of warlords. Kito thought to her. Might just have enough money to hire our force if they wished, but suppose that's the sort of case where you'd ask for a long vacation.

Ilanah sighed. The cold was getting to her, even through her efforts not to show it. Could we make haste inside? Excited to see the city. The three walked on, heading towards the elevator. Hopefully more interesting contacts would arrive soon.

[Elfland]

Winstermonth, Mid-Atlantic
Riche-flight Ambassadeur Un
Rapture Lighthouse

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Slowly descending towards the surface of the ocean was the personal seaplane of the envoy for the Greater Elvish Riche. Rather than try to outdo the impossibly powerful military powers that would surely show themselves, the Elvish Outwardminisry chose a more cultural display for most to enjoy. The transport itself represented not only Elfland's affinity for jet power but also its rich naval and sea culture. Ambassadeur Un touched down on the water with a massive splash before maneuvering itself nearby the two impressive battleships docked at the Rapture Lighthouse as well. Without a flashy ramp to leave the plane, Heretoga Elffair of Soulland had to exit through the opening nose cone and directly onto the dock.

As the crew had to remain with the seaplane, Outwardminister Elffair stood on the busy dock all alone. Her golden hair and skin shined brightly under the ocean sun in contrast to her dark brown dress. With no guards of her own, Elffair took pleasure in observing all the other shows of force by the other attendees, even the spectacular and humbling space farers as well. Elffair had an appreciation for martial cultures, as much as anyone in politics, and enjoyed studying the tactics and doctrines of other nations. However this xenophilia was rare among Elves and made her diplomacy valuable to the Riche. She had heard a lot about Rapture as it sits so close to Elvish territories, but seeing it was another story, as the undersea barrier of the city-state was nearly impossible to breach so it was finally time to see it for herself in person.

With her hands clasped together in front of her, Elffair made her way to the tower, wondering if whatever transport that would take them down will have enough space for all of the different entourages.

[A m e n r i a]

A black VTOL, with white accents on its fuselage and lights where they should be to prevent crashes land on the provided helipad adjacent of the Rapture Republic's lighthouse, a grand and memorable symbol of the nation. On the side of the vehicle, just behind the cockpit in a wide stripe of white was the Ramadhan Family crest, and the sound of dress shoes on metal was heard following the sliding of the VTOL's side doors. The dress shoes belonged to a slim man wearing a black suit over a white shirt, with a black tie around his neck. A pin bearing the same symbol as the VTOL rested on his lapel. A few more steps forward and one could see two men accompanying him, decked in what could be described as SWAT gear, with the Family crest as their shoulder patch - a telltale sign of Ramadhan Asset Protection men.

As for the sharply dressed man? He was Amenria's representative to the summit. A slicked-haired man by the name of Zhao Kun. The president of Calico Finance, a Ramadhan-owned financial company, acting as the second-in-command to the teenage CEO. He paused for a moment to adjust his black-framed, rectangular glasses, before looking back at his guards, then turning straight again to enter.

"A bloody battleship. And an armed boat. What, were the others that insecure? Such a pathetic attempt at a display of power. No matter. We'll see if they can back up their thinly veiled threats, and perhaps even gain connections in the process. My orders, after all, was to gather as much information as possible."

box = a character's inner thoughts

[The Selkie]

Galina Drosett.
Yacht Morifili Gafod.
Orbit was getting rather full, I knew, so I had decided to use one of the more unique features of my vessel: The yacht Morifili Gafod was capable of entering and leaving atmospheres at her own leisure under her own power. Certainly, in other necks of the universes, this was normal, but in my neck of the woods?
Not so much.
Quite on the contrary, and with orbital elevator stations in orbit over any and all major population centre (and those, who fancied themselves as such) this capability was not often needed.
But, as the Morifili Gafod rushed down, the heat of entry dripping off of the entry shielding, I liked to do that every once in a while. After all, what use was a space yacht, when no one on the surface could admire her at his or her leisure?
And that was another important ability of the Morifili Gafod: She was not only capable of entering and leaving an atmosphere, she was also capable of acting as a ship on any larger body of water.
For a 160 metres long monstrosity with three large ion engine units at the rear, that was a bit of a feat.
I sat at my desk in my study as we performed the difficult manoeuvres, already dressed to impress. Thanks to being an asteroid kid, born and raised in the Ghraig Asteroid Belt, I was naturally very pale, even if Syryffio and its tropical climate was a second home to me by now. It mattered little, it brought my blue eyes out better then anything, making them positvely shine. I also had the luck of being rather curvy, something my dress emphasized by both a nice cleavage, the dress being held up halterneck-style and going down to my calves. A broad belt around my hips put a bit of emphasis on those, while the black, knee-high boots, which appeared to be armoured (the metal plates were decorative) made me both talled thanks to a heel and made my legs appear all the longer. My almost white hair was open, most of it, safe for one strand falling over the left side of my face and covering one of my eyes slightly, was falling down my back. A wide brimmed hat sat on the desk's corner, a large, black flower emitting a blue light, while I had a long, dark, silken scarf wrapped around my neck. Black, short gloves completed the ensemble.
A fashionista had demands.
My companion, the Bennyw Be-25 Gynoid Cathach (her feline ears and tail as mechanical as the rest of her), was dressed in a suit and tie, the two large Brennina B-52 Blasters strapped to her sides in a inconspicuous black sheen (as opposed to their brothers in blinding white, which she carried on other occassions). It was not as if the silver-haired gynoid needed them, but they gave her some range. Plus, she acted mostly as my secretary right now.
The ship shook slightly.
"And we are in.", I commented with a smile, then rose. "We'll land in a bit."
"In about ten minutes.", the gynoid replied, then took up the hat. "Ma'am, I will protect you with my entire being."
I smiled and kissed the gynoid onto the cheek. "I know. But that should not be necessary today. So you will be my walking tape recorder."
"And your ears and eyes for things you might not see or hear."
I nodded and placed the hat onto my head, then did a spin. "This is going to be fun!"

A few minutes later, Lighthouse Cargo Docks.
I could only imagine the slightly confused looks some might give at the 160 metres long space ship first entering atmosphere, then moving towards the indicated landing area at a speed, which could be measured in multiples of the speed of sound, decelerating on the spot (without making the crew into red stains on the carpet, mind you!) and then setting down into the water (some steaming up due to residual heat).
The Morifili Gafod surely was a sight, when she wanted to be, especially when bobbing up and down at the Lighthouse Caro Docks. She was white, with golden highlights.
The ramp was guarded by a crewman with a Chonglau C-62 Carbine, a blaster, a simple security precaution, who nodded to me. I knew, that aside from him, a nice complement in battle droids was aboard, which could be activated for the defense, if need arose.
I returned the nod with a smile and descended, holding my hat as a breeze ran through my hair and threatened to tear the piece of clothing off of my head. I laughed - as a kid, I had only experienced wind during that one vacation, then I had been a school girl on Syryffio and had been growing.
But now... as a Leading Member of the Gwyrydlas-Syndicate, I could allow myself such girlishness and childishness. It was refreshing, as my boots made landfall, Cathach behind me. I wondered, what the welcoming party was like...

[Archbasilica]

December 2021
Iron Alliance Recruitment Summit
Apostle Alan Aldiyar Amadeus

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A match flicked alight.

Crackling phosphorous simmered minutely, courtesy of the smokeless orange flame. From a sizzling puff, smoke erupted, not from the match, but a cigar. Then, another puff, followed by another, and two more. Silenced followed afterwards, until a long, tiresome puff extinguished the flame. But the cigar itself glowed red hot, albeit momentarily.

Alan A. Amadeus finally held the cigar between his right fingers, callously flicking the match into the sea. With a black attaché case, suit and tie, and dress shoes, he was a 180cm tall man in his late 50s of Kazakh ancestry. Officially, he was alone, even as he stood atop the conning tower of the diesel-electric Altica Class submarine. Within the hour, the submarine would stop within port, with the Chief Ministry receiving a quiet and humble greeting from the crew and the foreign security detail. Unbeknownst to him, however, two obscured figures were abound, surreptitiously surveilling his movement and environment. Although he has no security detail of his own, the Archbasilican Archangels thought otherwise - he had no idea was being watched.

Inaudibly, the male agent - who was standing inside the lighthouse - murmured to himself; however, courtesy of the throat microphone hidden under his clothes, a new order was relayed to the female agent down below. Disguised by an apron, jeans, sweater, and headband, Anja maintained her role as an insignificant custodian, mopping the floors before Alan strode past her moments later. A few minutes later, other people would walk pass her, some of them being foreign representatives of particular interest. Meanwhile, the other agent walked down the lighthouse, eventually appearing in a freight lift with two freight handlers. The men paid no attention to other, simply bored out of their mind as they slaved onward throughout the day with their hand trolleys. Once the lift stopped, the men went about their ways, but the agent-in-disguise turned left, disappearing into a kitchen moments later...

[Erloane]

December 2021
Undisclosed location

A frigate sits in the water. No official markings, just an Erloanean flag flying in the wind. Soldiers in strange gray uniforms stand on the helicopter deck. A door opens and a tall and slim man goes outside, the soldiers snap to attention. After this man 4 more men in black suits followed him. The tall man was James Mercurius, he is currently on his way to the Iron Alliance Recruitment Summit. "Are you sure we´re here ?" asked Mercurius, "Yes sir." told him one of his security staff. James then nodded, soldiers in gray went into the hangar deck, and they brought up 3 small submersible vehicles, James and 3 soldiers sat inside the first one, meanwhile 4 more sat in the second one and James´ security agents sat in the last one. Remaining soldiers sealed these SDVs and lowered them into the water. All these vehicles started thier way to the Rapture Republic.

Some time later

The SDVs waited near underwater airlock, after a few minutes the Erloanean delegation is let in. SDVs are lifted out of the water, and they began to open, at first 2 opened, 4 soldiers and 4 security guards left thier submersibles, a few seconds later one of the soldiers knocked on the last vehicle, and it opened. James Mercurius departed the SDV along with 3 more soldiers. Soldiers then stayed with the subs and James along with his security guards then waited for any directions.

[South Reinkalistan]

RAPTUREREPUBLIC
"THE LIGHTHOUSE", CARGO DOCKS
ЮХФОРИ РЕПУБЛАЯ - “ДЕК ДУЕЛОВ” - КАЛАГИДОКА


AERIAL TRANSPORT VEHICLE DESIGNATION "ROZYA", ~ 2,000 FT ABOVE SEA LEVEL

Thump. Thump. Thump. The helicopter blades and their relentless pounding made Inya Stralavot feel sick. Granted, this was probably something greatly exacerbated by the fact she was presently nursing the mother of all hangovers from last night's Winter Festival party with her colleagues - "parties" at the Exterior Commissariat being a despondent affair marked by heavy drinking and not much else - but it still didn't help. What was worse was the nature of her destination: even accounting for the various intricacies of Aquarian life, the prospect of meeting the multiverse's assorted freaks at a summit for a blatantly reactionary organisation cast a shadow of dread over any pleasant thoughts the diplomat might have had.

Inya was beginning to think that the higher-ups at EXT-COM didn't like her that much. At the very least least, she wouldn't send anyone she valued dearly to one of the world's most far-flung hellholes for dubiously beneficial purposes -- but hey, someone needed to do it. She just really wished it was literally anyone else right now.

After a painfully long descent, the helicopter landed and Inya disembarked ungracefully, her wordless guards following suit. She wore a suit and black peaked cap flecked with hints of crimson. If the unusual nature of Rapture's submerged cityscape fazed her, she made no sign of showing it; a testament, perhaps, to the aforementioned hangover. Lighting a cigarette, she moved on, and entered Rapture.

[Dispertag]

Iron Alliance Summit
Lost in the air
21^St December 2021

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Zaira Cardelús Gil had been chosen as Dispertag's diplomatic representative for the Iron Alliance and was already on her way to the Iron Alliance Summit. As the Government helicopter flew over the dark and choppy waters of the North Atlantic Ocean, Cardelús Gil reflected to herself on the expectations of this meeting, which would be attended by so many other diplomats from countries whose interests would soon be, and probably, intertwined with ours. Cardelús Gil knew first-hand, from her adventures between positions within the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, that the situation on the international scene for Dispertag was not completely successful. It belongs to a large region such as Esportiva, on that side we were covered. But we had tried unsuccessfully to extend fruitful relationships by joining the Global Alliance. This had turned out to be a fiasco, and for this reason Cardelús Gil left with a foul humor, without the hope of obtaining great progress, and with expectations shattered by the precedents.

However, she had been sent by the Government to see with her own eyes the potential of this new organization, particularly the reasons that drove the rest of the nations and the interests and intentions they were pursuing. She had no choice but to do her job and do it well because, although she did not fully trust the development of this Summit, she harbored the naive hope that with a little seriousness and cooperation things could go forward, both for the Iron Alliance and Dispertag, whose disposition towards this new alliance was (nominatively) total.

The helicopter landed in the space provided by the authorities in the Lighthouse. There was protection everywhere. Quite right too; what was being forged there, hundreds of meters underground, in the sea, could be the beginning of a great project, an incredible union of economic, military, scientific and political ties if everything went as planned. Cardelús Gil stepped onto the ground amidst the strong gales produced by the still activated propellers of the flying apparatus and the sound of the waves crashing against the rocks, accompanied by two dispertagueño guards, assigned to this mission specifically to protect her. She knew that she did not require any protection, she knew how to get by on her own, but she never hurt the company of two already known natives among so many unknown characters and speakers of other languages that she would soon meet at the Summit.

[Polish Prussian Commonwealth]

Temporary Detachment 1 - Surface Action Group 'Saybrook'
Scout Cruiser 'Appalachia'

As yachts and star-destroyers puttered about, an old, battered warship, somewhat less than two kilometers long, pulled into orbit. She was a scout cruiser; one of Battlegroup Anna's most vital ships, without which their wormhole drives were worthless. With her hull packed to the gills with extremely sensitive -- and delicate -- sensors, she could scan vast swathes of space at once, and forward it to the rest of the Battlegroup for the adjustments needed to ensure safe wormhole generation.

That, however, was not her main mission today. She was, in effect, a diplomatic transport. The rest of her surface action group -- a battleship, a heavy cruiser, and a smattering of corvettes, frigates, and destroyers -- waited at a respectful distance. In this case, this was at the edge of the solar system, though this still kept the scout-cruiser -- and any potential troublemakers -- under the coverage of their extremely long-ranged missiles.

---

As she buckled herself into the assault transport's jump-seats, 'Appalachia' resisted the urge to retch. Weeks of preperation, briefings, and drills still did not put her at ease, and perhaps no amount of preperation would. With 'Visby', she was to accompany a small delegation to some backwater polity that the Battlegroup had only just heard of, and indeed, had stumbled upon by sheer chance.

Evidently they were not the only spacefaring polity that had stumbled upon the 'Rapture Republic'; one little pleasure-yacht(she always hated those damned things) was going in-atmosphere, as well as a smattering of shuttles. Soon they would join the steady stream of spacecraft heading for ground, to a trumped-up bandit state that ignored the generally accepted international customs that the Battlegroup assumed of, if not civilized, at least decent states with which they could do proper business, as opposed to one-off schmucks, idiots, or future targets to simply rip off until they inevitably garnered enough ire from their neighbors to warrant an intervention.

But schmucks and idiots or not, standing orders were still to humor them.

For most of the delegation that would not be difficult; Commodore Dana Lipka thought only of the hospitals and orphanages she administered, and Helena Gallinger was, while not glib, at least tactful. She and Visby would probably not be overly involved in the negotiations, and in both cases had little to gain, in their view, from mischief.

But there was one member who would cause trouble, and that was the extremely short, blonde-haired young woman in a plate-carrier and a coil-rifle slung across her chest sitting across from her, currently tapping away at a tablet.
Sally Northampton. The devil of the Battlegroup. A dubious, demonic, little creature, constantly up to mischief -- and, unfortunately, a veteran of the conflict with Drecha.

It would be a miracle if she did not start an incident within the first hour for her own amusement.
A lurch brought Appalachia out of her thoughts; the aircraft-catapults had thrown the assault transport out of the ship, and a moment later, it's thrusters fired up, and began to head into the atmosphere. The brief sense of weightlessness, followed by a slight lurch as the transport began to nose itself into the atmosphere, made her a little nauseous. It must have showed on her face, for Visby leaned forward from her seat, adjacent to hers. "First time?" she asked.

Appalachia shook her head, and gripped her knees as the shuttle began to shake. "Th-third." she stuttered, as the shuttle began to shake. "D-don't usually go planetside..."
"Aye." Visby reached over and held one of Appalachia's hands. "It takes a bit to get used to it. But is that all?"

"Well, the summit, and-"
"Bah!" Visby grinned. "You'll do fine, Appalachia. I've seen some real blunders in my time!"

Appalachia nodded, unconvinced, but electing not to pursue the subject further.

---

Rapture Republic
"The Lighthouse" - Cargo Docks

A strange aircraft, resembling a V-22 Osprey with rockets hammered on in place of the turboprops, screeched through the sky. After passing over the North Atlantic and briefly breaking the sound barrier, it approached the helipad and descended, before opening it's rear ramp.

First out was a young red-headed woman in business casual. She was thin and even somewhat lanky, with the pale skin of a spacer. An attempt at a poker face was shattered by the darting of her green eyes here and there, as if she were cornered.

Following her were a pair of naval officers.

One wore a white, crisp uniform, with a small caudacus pin identifying her as a doctor or corpsman of some sort. Though she had neat, shoulder-length blonde hair and lovely curves, deep shadows lay under her bloodshot eyes, and she seemed to stare foward blankly.

The other naval officer, with slightly longer light-brown hair, wore a navy blue utility uniform and a baseball cap with a ship's patch sown on. Her piercing blue eyes seemed to scan everything -- the other delegates, the city upon which they had arrived, and even any of their hosts arriving to greet them -- and catalog them away for further rumination.

Bringing up the rear was a dark-haired woman in business casual, carrying with her the air of someone whose words were backed by very, very big guns. With her was a shorter girl in a plate carrier, uniform, and helmet, with a bayonet-affixed battle rifle slung over her back and staring down at her phone. As the delegation wound it's way forward, she glanced up at the Svenskan battleship, smirked, and stopped to snap a picture of it, before racing to catch up with the rest of the group, her rifle nearly slashing quite a few delegates as she ran to catch up.

[The Auraverse]

⠀North Atlantic ocean
Approximately 3,000 meters above sea level
Lighthouse Cargo Docks

December 19th

---

The Eidolon was a vector for interaction.

Not diplomacy, as such. The Syndicate didn't really do diplomacy, especially these days - observation was the name of the game, and mutual recognition brought complications. But there was no simple blanket-descriptor for the scheme, the plan, the Work, that could do it justice; thus, a faceless thing now folded itself out of thin air some three kilometers over the northern Atlantic, because the Director willed it so. It was an odd-looking object, all lean curves and angled, distended proportions. A girthy block-torso balanced atop a pocked orb, flowing lines of white converging upwards into what one could have maybe called a neck, and tapering up to a baseball-sized sphere that was probably the closest thing present to a head. Each limb was thin, smoothed - legs terminating in footless proto-nubs were compensated for by two sets of eerily-long, matte-grey fingers. Lines of flickering blue faded in and out of being along the thing's surface, tracing out patterns so complex as to be near-equivalent to random noise.

The Eidolon, consolidated into realspace in all its statuesque glory, took a few moments to do more or less nothing. It hovered, silent and motionless, allowing for eyeless eyes to appraise the dockyard, far below. With that done, it set about lowering itself to a suitable altitude, drifting lazily downwards over the course of a minute or so - lazily, in this case, being a very relative term applied to something moving at some fifty meters per second. It snapped to a complete halt in the precise center of an empty helipad, not really bothering with all the air that had been in the way - whatever its actual method of transit, it didn't seem to have much to do with physical motion, or respecting the resistance of atmospheric gases. Thus there was no rush of wind at its arrival, no ripple of flung-aside air slamming into bystanders or the structure itself. Just a silent, inscrutable newcomer among the already-colorful throng of attendees, now hovering with its foot-nubs a centimeter or so off the helipad's surface.

It set off at a more pedestrian, walking pace - though of course, no actual walking was involved. It merely slid through the air, altitude constant, pose unchanging, off the docks and towards the lighthouse itself. What exactly it wanted here was still somewhat nebulous, and quite how directly the Director had decided to poke his head in was as yet a mystery in and of itself - certainly if one of his proxies had been dispatched, there was some degree of vested interest here. Only time would tell the details.

[Imperial-Octavia]

The Aether
A week before the summit

"And what would this be Hazzar?" Senac asked as his handler handed a data packet over to him. Senac had been idle since the beginning of the Ascension War, his role as a diplomatic envoy had little use when the Imperium was no longer pursuing new civilizations to make contact with (and potentially conquer) so it came as some surprise to the Vrun that he was being called for duty to go to some diplomatic summit that was made up of equal amounts of primitives and organics.

Kel'Hazzar replied almost immediately, "Those would be the details for our own diplomatic alliance, the Coalition of Aligned States. Your mission is to see if this Iron Alliance thing would conflict with our interests on that front in any way. Feel free to establish relations with any suitable polities you find there, the Imperium does need more allies." he sounded like he was reciting a script, but Senac had come to expect it. The Octavian had rarely shown much emotion in anything which was contrary to what he had seen from others of that race but at least it made things quick when it came to briefings.

"I'll read through that data pack once I find the time Hazzar, thank you. I'll be seeing you at this year's Paramount Day celebrations right?"

"Of course." was all that was said in reply as Hazzar left Senac's mansion in the Aether as Senac sat back and sent a copy of his consciousness to get his diplomatic shuttle in proper order for his soon to come mission. It looked like he would be due for another routine spot of diplomacy.

The Lighthouse
Present Day

The shuttle was different when compared to that of the other spacefaring civilizations. While most interstellar nations had brought quite large spacecraft to ferry themselves the Octavian craft was quite small in comparison, only 440 meters, but as it landed and sent out a ramp to the ground it showed that size was not everything. Holographic projections of the Octavian flag appeared on the sides of the craft alongside a bigger one on the top, reaching up to equal the size of the lighthouse itself and from the speakers of the craft came a patriotic tune that played loudly (not loudly enough to be obnoxious though) as Senac stepped out and looked at the assorted delegates.

"So many organics..."

It had been a long time since Senac had seen so many organics in one place and so few synthetics. Usually when meeting with an organic civilization they would meet on an Octavian shuttle, where he'd only have to be around the one. Aside from himself the only synthetics he could see were the Hounds of Tindalos but Qhevak wasn't exactly a shining beacon of synthetic values. He almost felt vulnerable being around so many lesser lifeforms, not that he would ever say that out loud, but he knew that any feelings of discomfort or superiority he may feel towards the organics would have to be put aside for this meeting to be somewhat successful. He could only hope that seeing the pathetic organics function wouldn't make him feel too bad, sometimes seeing the poor things depressed him. With this thought he moved towards the lighthouse to begin his evaluation of this Iron Alliance.

[The-Rapture-Republic]

The Arrivals.
North Atlantic Ocean
Lighthouse Cargo Docks

"MNS Executive, you have been cleared to make berth at the Loading Docks. Please disembark from your ship at the earliest, they will be another announcement once all have arrived." Vladimir Skullus stated over the comm with the MNS Executive. It would be tiring yet necessary endeavor as to his position as General and as assigned to the Lighthouse Command Authority to ensure that docking instructions to the arriving delegations are heard correctly, and are reminded that none of them will receive diplomatic immunity, and are at the mercy of Aquarian law if they acted befitting of themselves. After assumingly getting to the last arrival, which he doubted, would set the comm to be open to the gathering officials on the cargo docks. [i]"This is General Vladimir Skullus, we have spoken before, and you know your status here. Nevertheless, welcome to the Rapture Republic. The weather is due to drop significantly tonight, and so with all haste, all delegations are ordered to rally at the Lighthouse's entrance. We shall meet in person as we descend into the nation below." Vladimir Skullus directed to the Foreign Delegations, before clicking the comm off, and leaving his post. "Rogers, if anyone else arrives be sure to inform to head into the elevator immediately, and be ready to receive instructions from a security detail," Vladimir said, with Sergeant Rogers acknowledging with a salute.

Soon, the Lighthouse's main entrance would slide open, with its large heavy steel doors crawling against the ground, and sounding as metal would as it crawled against the concrete, and from the corners of the door would blast stream, and make noise of ticking from the cogs pulling the doors apart. In the middle as the door part ways, General Vladimir Skullus with his heads behind his back, and a cigar in his mouth, and be donning a fashionable military suitfor his rank, and to internally telling Vladimir Skullus that he was still stylish, even for a man in his mid-40s, and being grey all around. "Once again, welcome to Rapture, and if you have forgotten my name. I am General Vladimir Skullus, the Overseer of the Lighthouse Command Authority. Before we descend into the Fatherland, please make sure you have everything be it items or servants that you wish you have on your person." Vladimir said firmly as he observed the strange delegates though displayed apparent disinterest in all of them as most of nothing that they had was uncommon to the Rapture Republic.

[Archbasilica]

Soon, the Lighthouse's main entrance would slide open, with its large heavy steel doors crawling against the ground, and sounding as metal would as it crawled against the concrete, and from the corners of the door would blast stream, and make noise of ticking from the cogs pulling the doors apart. In the middle as the door part ways, General Vladimir Skullus with his heads behind his back, and a cigar in his mouth, and be donning a fashionable military suit for his rank, and to internally telling Vladimir Skullus that he was still stylish, even for a man in his mid-40s, and being grey all around. "Once again, welcome to Rapture, and if you have forgotten my name. I am General Vladimir Skullus, the Overseer of the Lighthouse Command Authority. Before we descend into the Fatherland, please make sure you have everything be it items or servants that you wish you have on your person." Vladimir said firmly as he observed the strange delegates though displayed apparent disinterest in all of them as most of nothing that they had was uncommon to the Rapture Republic.

Despite Alan’s advanced, albeit stress-induced, age, he discreetly scanned his surroundings, especially this one Vladimir Skullus. He too had a cigar as well, although the 50-something-year-old can tell that this opposing cigar smelt different. Compared to the tropical Chinese-grown tobacco leaves in the Archbasilican cigar, the scent in Vladimir’s smoke hinted earthy and hay-like aromas. Indian, perhaps? Though his taste buds and nose were obliterated by decades of chain smoking, he couldn’t help but gander. Something to note later on.

Before Alan could express his appreciation(s), a flurry of other delegates were making their own entrances. Some were profession and quiet as him; some were argumentative; some others were adventurous; some were animatedly appalling. It was a crossroad of different worlds and universes at this point, like something out of a certainly ‘marvellous’ movie. It was not something he liked, however, especially given his medical profession [if not his own ailments]. If anything, it made him sicker, angry at worst, internally speaking of course.

For now, he quietly followed the congregation into the elevator, uncaring that he was taking another puff of his cigar…

[CBG-Palisade]

[OOC: Sorry for such a long post, just had a lot to get out of the way in my introduction. Muse strikes at odd times, yknow?]

And here... we... go.

⌑ ⌑ ⌑

❐ Arrivals ❐
LOC::RAP_LIGHTHOUSE | UNITS::ROSEN,_LOTUS

⌑ ⌑ ⌑

The air did not so much part around the gilded white dagger slicing its way through the lower atmosphere above the North Atlantic as it did bow, respectfully, and slipping over a gently curving airframe allow the vessel to pass through itself like a wave washing gently across the prow of a ship. Said ship, hailing from a distant port with no as-of-yet clear harbor, bore upon its crown a delicate intertwining of golden lace, arranged in a diamond lattice bisecting itself again and again into smaller parts - all in mimicry of the whole. This symbol, resting in gentle contrast with the cream of the upper face of the craft, declared it along with a broadcast ident code to be an atmospheric craft of the van Heerden Cooperative- as did its exorbitant design, sparing no comfort or aesthetic concern that it could bear. It had no name, for it had never had a need for one, one of a kind as it was- practically purpose-built by the Cooperative for the niche case it should ever have to send delegates to the mother world Earthon its own dime, it had not until today seen use outside of simulations. And now, to its designers' credit, it was performing admirably. Propelled by a pair of jet engines thrusting outward from their nacelles mounted within its single lifting-body hull, it flitted ever closer to the spire jutting from the ocean like a knife thrust into the world's crust, a whisper on the wind slowly circling ever inwards on a tightening gyre of a flight-path.

This lazy circle of a trajectory was no accident. Like a dancer arching her back to an audience, the craft might've seemed to rejoice in the gaze of the Lighthouse's radar- and more importantly, it offered its crew of one and four passengers the opportunity to enjoy a smooth final approach, something the tumult of upper atmosphere had not offered. And yet, no-one within seemed to be taking that opportunity for themselves. The two armed men seated by the cabin's hatch held their rifles close to their admittedly casually-attired bodies, the loose jumpsuits they wore typical garb for their home. Only a patch on each one's left shoulder bearing a screaming eagle grasping a sword reading "Valkyrie - 8912" and a lanyard-clipped ID with the Cooperative's diamond around their necks hinted as to their association. Though, to be fair, the ramrod postures with which they held themselves might've given a watching eye a decent hint as well.

The other two passengers of the vehicle, on the other hand, were quite clear as to their origins, and to their purpose- clad in matching black suits, velveteen undershirts, and golden ties, they cut a professional figure together, one that to a more disparaging audience might've come off as that of a car salesman, or perhaps a door-to-door marketer. The shorter of the two, a small, wiry old man with a diamond-sharp crop of a haircut, a sharper jaw, and sharper still eyes, the majority of skin on his face marred by scarring, would've preferred the term "commissioned agent of the van Heerden Development Cooperative, proud to serve an ever-growing family of humanity bound together by a common purpose and desire for betterment in the 97th and 98th Corridors, and soon, wherever you are, should you choose to share in the bounty we offer"- a practiced pitch indeed. The latter, a tall, fair-skinned woman with a hawk's nose, a tumble of straight, well-cared-to brown hair falling down her neck in a business ponytail, and narrow, shifting, cautious eyes, had no pitch. She'd long since moved beyond such things. The two sat near the back of the comfortably lit and generously furnished cabin, sharing a slim draught of liquid courage over a thin imitation-wood as the aircraft made its final preparations to land. Just enough, as the woman would've said, to get the blood pumping, and no more- the rest was for after.

Those final preparations were soon upcoming. The knife in the ocean was now a great blade towering into the sky, the aircraft flaring its control surfaces to slow itself to a gentle landing speed as it reached the final turns in its path. There seemed, at first glance, to be no airstrip not larger than a dime-sized helipad sitting amongst the flotsam of makeshift docks shackled to the Lighthouse's base- rather inconsiderate to those travellers without access to some kind of bloody cruise-liner or luxury fucking hovercar, the pilot thought. But nevertheless this inconvenience wouldn't interrupt her approach. The designers had, along with so many other things packed into this gently-rounded wedge of an aircraft, managed to hollow out space at its center of mass for a true triumph de force- a massive turbofan engine, placed directly behind the now ever-so-subtly vibrating rear wall of the vessel's cabin. An intake shield and a cover of heat-repellant silica-silica tiles both slid away to reveal the whirring mass now thrusting upward at a force nearly enough to counterbalance the vehicle's entire weight, the two swivel-mounted turbojets in the "wings" tilting downwards to cover the difference. A broad, flat triangle of landing gears slowly extended from their own mountings as the sea-foam below the craft began to be whipped to a frenzy by the downwards thrust from the aircraft and its selected landing pad drew near. The landing pads all around the craft, occupied by a ridiculous array of makeshift craft from a dozen far-off locales, were not the concern of the pilot, or listed as relevant to her paycheck, and were thus quickly ignored. That was a problem for the... away team to take care of.

As softly as a multi-ton vehicle could manage, she slipped it onto the concrete of the pad, and flipping a switch on the center console after throwing the throttle closed took a moment to appreciate the sound of the engines winding down. So odd, she thought, in contrast to the rockets she was used to working to, like the ones capping the craft's very tail for exoatmospheric transfer. With those, it was a cut of the throttle and then silence- but the momentum of the jet engines' fan blades took some time indeed to drain away and bring them to a halt. A final click of the radio and a few words later, and she leaned back in her seat with hands crossed behind her head. Her job was done. And below, as the bottom hatch of the cabin spun open its lock and a pneumatic ramp lowered into place flush with the deck, her passengers' jobs were about to begin.

Flanked by their two security guards, and with a pair of thin glossy black tablets clutched under their arms just as their suits did, the pair of Cooperative agents made their way to the bottom of the ramp, doing their best to- and in the case of the man, failing- contain the shock they felt at the sea breeze rolling over their faces, the smell of salt spray filling their noses. It was certainly a far cry from the still, climate-controlled atmospheres they were used to. As, for that matter, was the great open blue sky above them, and the masses of water roiling about their feet- all strangers to these spacers, absent from their far home in the stars. Yet, a moment later and all four had at least slightly recovered their stances- this was, after all, a job they'd been trained to manage for nearly a month. Impressions were the name of the game, after all, and the agents at least were intent on giving a good one.

The guards on the other hand seemed to have their attention focused on some kind of massive aerial dragonfly resting on another pad. Almost like they recognized it. Impossible, the agents knew, as well as completely irrelevant to their present mission...

...a mission that was, at present, complicated by the complete lack of any receiving personnel in their immediate vicinity. Rather hard, one would think, to know where to go when no-one was about to show you where the metaphorical snacks bar was. Turning to his comrade, the man gruffly voiced his surprise with an oddly mild question- "Hey, you see anyone?"

"Well," came the woman's smooth reply, "not presently. But I'm sure they'll be along. Someday."

With an entirely inappropriate look of disgust at his surroundings for what a corporate salesman's role would require, the man grimaced at the assortment of concrete pillars, steel beams and scaffolding, and immense number of floats surrounding them, to his eye little more than smashed rubble drifting on the ocean. "That'd require someone intelligent to be running this operation. I'm not so sure, if they're making us land here." His voice was low, so as to only be heard by his compatriot. After all, one could never be too careful about bugs. Standard company policy had the damn things everywhere. Not that standard company policy applied to ones such as these two.

The woman clasped her hands behind her back and settled into a relaxed stance, humming, "We'll see. We'll see."

We'll see, indeed.

[The Dark Domain]

*is thoughts
#is telepathic communication
() is ooc or clarification

In a taped off section of the dock a ten foot rune made of crystals and strange fluids, prepared to exacting specifications that had arrived the day before, blazed to life and a portal opened, an expanse of writhing darkness surrounded by a border of crackling energy

From within stepped a pair of massive, armoured knights, who glared around at the surrounding mix of soldiers, sailors and staff, their hands empty and no weapons apparent but an aura of menace rolling of them as they moved to stand on either side of the portal

A moment later two more figures stepped though a man and a woman in blue and green respectively, their hooded robes cut to show a considerable amount of skin, both were extremely attractive but their beauty seemed slightly to perfect, giving them an artificial quality, the final arrival however put them to shame

From the portal stepped a devastatingly attractive woman, her beauty either natural or the result of superior techniques to the other two, her robe, high heeled thigh boots and tiny bustier cut to leave a great deal of skin bare to expose the rune tattooed on her stomach and the gems implanted in her arms, a whiff of exotic perfume followed her and a slight glamour surrounded her (not enough to actually control, just enough to put someone she was talking to slightly off balance)

She smiled as she stopped, hands on hips, as her gaze roved over the bustle occurring around her, occasionally settling for a few seconds on a particularly attractive or muscular figure
"well it seems we've arrived, we can look forward to meeting so many new people" she said in a melodious, breathy voice

"Yes, my lady" replied the woman then a further comment through the telepathic bond cast on all of them earlier #provided you remember why we are here#

Lady Tatiana showed no outward change of expression as she lead the group toward the lighthouse #you do not need to remind of my duty, I know what I am here for#

Upon arrival she immediacy approached General Skullus, smiled warmly and offered him her hand to shake or kiss "General, a true pleasure, I am Tatiana, Third Circle Mage and Voice of the Dark Figure" she gestured behind her "these are my staff, Ikore and Ozith of the Fifth Circle and two of The Domain's Knights" she leaned forward and whispered breathily into his ear "I'm afraid I can't give you their names, I'm not sure they have them"

[Allied Iran]

North Atlantic Ocean
The Rapture Republic; The Lighthouse Cargo Docks
December 22, 2021; Yalda Night

---

Thwop Thwop Thwop Saeed Bakhshi sighed desolately as the helicopter he was riding in descended to the cargo docks somewhere in the Northern Atlantic. It was late at night, just as it had been late at night when he left Tehran on a flight straight to Reykjavik, and he was probably the only person in the whole country who could boast the dubious honor of having failed to attend Yalda twice in the same year. Why, he hadn't even hung up the call to his wife explaining he might be home early tonight when he'd been promptly told he was to represent the country personally in a few hours in an underwater republic off the coast of Iceland. Then again, the whole situation with the Iron Alliance had been sudden, all things considered, and he could understand why he was en route to the diplomatic summit. Still didn't mean he wasn't just a tad miffed he, and not some other diplomat, had to miss Yalda twice.

By the time the chopper had landed, the Persian foreign minister had regained his bearing. He took a look at the docks. Modern battleships, armed boats, sci-fi shuttles and transports, and a variety of submarines and seaplanes that he would have said belonged to a history museum if he wasn't seeing them with his own eyes. And yet this barely compares to the very thing I'm standing on he thought as he and his bodyguard disembarked.

[The Selkie]

Galina Drosett.
Lighthouse Cargo Docks.
If one asked me to describe the scene at the Lighthouse Cargo Docks in one word, it would be chaos. Pure and utter chaos as delegations arrived in their own distinctive craft, from small atmospheric jumpers to other shuttles to, in one case, appearing on the pad.
The local authorities did the best they could, but in some cases, that was not as simple as it sounded.
I took it all in with a wide smile and spun on my heels several times to increase the effect - until Cathach grabbed me by the arm and dragged me out of the way of someone short running with a rifle (and a bayonet attached to it), which nearly skewered me.
I blushed in Cathach's arms, who looked at me with a bit of worry (at least I thought, that I saw that in her gynoid eyes). "Are you injured?"
"No, thanks, Cathach.", I said and brought a hand up to run it along her chin bone, until...

The Arrivals.
North Atlantic Ocean
Lighthouse Cargo Docks

"MNS Executive, you have been cleared to make berth at the Loading Docks. Please disembark from your ship at the earliest, they will be another announcement once all have arrived." Vladimir Skullus stated over the comm with the MNS Executive. It would be tiring yet necessary endeavor as to his position as General and as assigned to the Lighthouse Command Authority to ensure that docking instructions to the arriving delegations are heard correctly, and are reminded that none of them will receive diplomatic immunity, and are at the mercy of Aquarian law if they acted befitting of themselves. After assumingly getting to the last arrival, which he doubted, would set the comm to be open to the gathering officials on the cargo docks. "This is General Vladimir Skullus, we have spoken before, and you know your status here. Nevertheless, welcome to the Rapture Republic. The weather is due to drop significantly tonight, and so with all haste, all delegations are ordered to rally at the Lighthouse's entrance. We shall meet in person as we descend into the nation below." Vladimir Skullus directed to the Foreign Delegations, before clicking the comm off, and leaving his post. "Rogers, if anyone else arrives be sure to inform to head into the elevator immediately, and be ready to receive instructions from a security detail," Vladimir said, with Sergeant Rogers acknowledging with a salute.

Soon, the Lighthouse's main entrance would slide open, with its large heavy steel doors crawling against the ground, and sounding as metal would as it crawled against the concrete, and from the corners of the door would blast stream, and make noise of ticking from the cogs pulling the doors apart. In the middle as the door part ways, General Vladimir Skullus with his heads behind his back, and a cigar in his mouth, and be donning a fashionable [url=https://i.pinimg.com/originals/93/27/74/9327741ff4f590c001baa67b0bb09c37.jpg]military suit for his rank, and to internally telling Vladimir Skullus that he was still stylish, even for a man in his mid-40s, and being grey all around. "Once again, welcome to Rapture, and if you have forgotten my name. I am General Vladimir Skullus, the Overseer of the Lighthouse Command Authority. Before we descend into the Fatherland, please make sure you have everything be it items or servants that you wish you have on your person." Vladimir said firmly as he observed the strange delegates though displayed apparent disinterest in all of them as most of nothing that they had was uncommon to the Rapture Republic.

...interrupted my thoughts.
I stepped away from my bodyguard, cleared my throat and smiled slightly. My status here? Sure, these people did not acknowledge diplomatic immunity, but the Syndicate had a strict policy of [i]If you don't hurt me, I don't hurt you, if you hurt me, then pray to your Gods. That extended to the Syndicate's diplomats like me.
And they had been informed about that.
But regardless, I followed the instructions of the General Skullus with a smile, went towards the lighthouse like everyone else - there were a lot of interesting people here. There were smokers, there were a few people in antiquated armour escorting some people in a rather open-hearted dresses, including one, who I'd rather see in a club of a certain kind rather then on a diplomatic summit (were those gems implanted? Blimey, what some people did to themselves...). There were a lot more people, too.
But anyway, while the stripper made her way to greet the General, I looked at Cathach.
"We have everything, Ma'am.", she said.
Smiling, I turned forward, knowing, that while Skullus certainly made a sharp figure, he was not the guy in charge around here. That was John Mercer, the Supreme Chancellor. And he would get his polite, diplomatic greeting when we were introduced - something I did look forward to a bit.

[Qhevak]

---

Iron Alliance Diplomatic Mission, Hounds of Tindalos Insertion Group 22
Lighthouse Cargo Docks, Rapture Republic [α Quadrant]
December 19th, 2021 NSY

---

New contacts would appear as Ilanah made her way towards the Lighthouse, visible first in on the orbital satellite livefeeds streamed live to her perception – some deployed by the Nimkasi II as it made orbit, some pre-existing and accessed in a not-quite-legal fashion - before they made their way into her personal reality. Some soared down from orbit or high altitude, some came across or out of the water, one simply… appeared. She felt a bit sorry for the ones showing up in simple helicopters, most of whom were no doubt about to enter a world far outside any previous context known.

With yet no sign of activity within the lighthouse, Ilanah leaned by the great dark towering door, gazing up into the cloudless blue sky and descending aircraft above. Even after all that she’d gone though in the past few years she was never fully used to planets, always had that niggling worry in the back of her head that the gravity would go and she’d be thrown out into the endless void at any moment. Couldn’t wait to enter Rapture, return once more to the great indoors.

Shortly after the Octavian – god, why did they have to show – delegation appeared with a rather ostentatious display, orbital sensors would show a new ship, skimming over the ocean at low altitude. A ship, according to her display, which belonged to the Van Heerden Development Cooperative. Supposedly a frequent hirer of Sacha’s Valkyries, which had had a… rather less than pleasant encounter with the forces of the Hounds about a year ago, on Dalai’s very first mission out of the Oortian Community. As it landed, an enormous core turbofan producing a noticeable gust even from her distance, the three would have their worst fears confirmed. Valkyrie logo on shoulders of guards. Kito cocked her head towards Ilanah. May be more interesting than expected.

Then, finally, the doors opened, escaping warm air sounding like nothing less than a great sigh of relief. Seeing the rather fashionably dressed general standing in the center, Ilanah would begin to approach, striding ahead with an air of projected confidence, only for a very revealingly clad young-looking woman to sweep past her and initiate conversation before she had her chance. Certainly wouldn't be my first choice of attire here. Can't really complain with her figure, though. thought Ilanah to the others.

Not recommend getting too attracted to the witch. thought Malik back with a tinge of concern. Sensing bit of memetic projection coming off her. Not great level, but enough. If this one cannot even whore properly without mindtricks, she is surely not a mate to recommend.

A synsect deployer flipped just a crack open on his armored topside, a little boxy thing containing a small horde of microbots within. Planning on tracking anyone? Dalai thought. Magic stripper lady and the tactical looking girl seem the most likely to start shit. But the two Rockhounds were ignoring her, enraptured in an invisible storm of laser comms that flashed between the two until they replied abruptly with a kurt No. Ilanah wondered privately if the two were more concerned with not starting an incident of their own, or if they wished to let anyone who would start an incident do it on their own terms. Certainly, they wouldn’t be unhappy if this all ended in shooting.

[Archbasilica]

*is thoughts
#is telepathic communication
() is ooc or clarification

In a taped off section of the dock a ten foot rune made of crystals and strange fluids, prepared to exacting specifications that had arrived the day before, blazed to life and a portal opened, an expanse of writhing darkness surrounded by a border of crackling energy

From within stepped a pair of massive, armoured knights, who glared around at the surrounding mix of soldiers, sailors and staff, their hands empty and no weapons apparent but an aura of menace rolling of them as they moved to stand on either side of the portal

A moment later two more figures stepped though a man and a woman in blue and green respectively, their hooded robes cut to show a considerable amount of skin, both were extremely attractive but their beauty seemed slightly to perfect, giving them an artificial quality, the final arrival however put them to shame

From the portal stepped a devastatingly attractive woman, her beauty either natural or the result of superior techniques to the other two, her robe, high heeled thigh boots and tiny bustier cut to leave a great deal of skin bare to expose the rune tattooed on her stomach and the gems implanted in her arms, a whiff of exotic perfume followed her and a slight glamour surrounded her (not enough to actually control, just enough to put someone she was talking to slightly off balance)

She smiled as she stopped, hands on hips, as her gaze roved over the bustle occurring around her, occasionally settling for a few seconds on a particularly attractive or muscular figure
"well it seems we've arrived, we can look forward to meeting so many new people" she said in a melodious, breathy voice

"Yes, my lady" replied the woman then a further comment through the telepathic bond cast on all of them earlier #provided you remember why we are here#

Lady Tatiana showed no outward change of expression as she lead the group toward the lighthouse #you do not need to remind of my duty, I know what I am here for#

Upon arrival she immediacy approached General Skullus, smiled warmly and offered him her hand to shake or kiss "General, a true pleasure, I am Tatiana, Third Circle Mage and Voice of the Dark Figure" she gestured behind her "these are my staff, Ikore and Ozith of the Fifth Circle and two of The Domain's Knights" she leaned forward and whispered breathily into his ear "I'm afraid I can't give you their names, I'm not sure they have them"

“I’m getting too old for this sh- I mean, ‘romanticism’.” Alan huffed internally, holding the cigar between his fingers as he recalled the scene, “Maybe if I was in my 20s, I would think otherwise. But I’m tired and I’ve always hated people. Then again, it’s been my job for 35 years to study behaviour and personalities - who am I to talk?”

Bringing up the rear was a dark-haired woman in business casual, carrying with her the air of someone whose words were backed by very, very big guns. With her was a shorter girl in a plate carrier, uniform, and helmet, with a bayonet-affixed battle rifle slung over her back and staring down at her phone. As the delegation wound it's way forward, she glanced up at the Svenskan battleship, smirked, and stopped to snap a picture of it, before racing to catch up with the rest of the group, her rifle nearly slashing quite a few delegates as she ran to catch up.

“This is why we [Archbasilicans] never brandish guns.” The 50-something-year-old man grumbled internally, disapprovingly shaking his head, “Looks like these warriors are from a highly militarised state. I may not be an Archangel (state police and inquisition), but it is my job to know everyone inside and out in every way possible.”

Raising the cigar to his lips, he took a long puff, almost brisk as he thought further, “I’m glad I’m not on the receiving end of that blade or barrel. Either way, I’m going to stay as far away as possible. Certainly, the Archprophetess wouldn’t want to hear that one of her apostles had been slain.”

[Erloane]

The Erloanean delegation began walking towards the arrivals.


The Arrivals

Delegation left the elevator and walked to the areas where other delegates already were. James took a long look at the sea, it was strangely calming. James then went to talk to the other delegates. He stopped and listened to others.

[Mirum]

Somewhere in the North Atlantic Ocean
Lighthouse Cargo Docks

"MNS Executive, you have been cleared to make berth at the Loading Docks. Please disembark from your ship at the earliest, they will be another announcement once all have arrived."

The Executive pulled into the docks, giving off two short blasts of its horn as it was doing so. A stand clear signal, one could assume, as briefly after, crew members disembarked and began to tie the ship up to the dock at a rapid pace. No sooner had the final rope been tied, a ramp was lowered from the ship, and several security members disembarked, four of the six wearing suits and ties, while the remaining two wore Mirian Military MP uniforms and carried rifles. The MPs remained standing by the plank, at attention, while the four dark-suited guards fanned out onto the dock, seemingly awaiting someone. Not long after their arrival onto the dock, a seventh person disembarked. This was Vice President Sindhi Huba, who was also wearing a suit and tie. He proceeded up to the four guards on the dock, and walked past wordlessly, as they professionally fell in step behind him. Already, other diplomats and their security escorts had arrived on the dock, but this was to be expected. The Executive was a big ship, which took time to properly tie up. Already, the sky that was once blue began to fade to black, yet there was a buzz of activity in the air.

The scene on the dock was chaotic. Guards and diplomats ran about in a fashion that could only be described as professional chaos. Sindri watched as one diplomat was nearly punctured by the bayonet of a passing guard. Earlier, he had seen three people in colored robes appear out of a portal on a portion of the dockyard, and there were several aircraft and what seemed to be sci-fi-like spacecraft on various landing platforms, as well as an elegantly designed seaplane all from which these people had arrived in. There was even a battleship present. But none of this was the point. The goal for the Mirian diplomatic group- as with everyone else here- towered above and below them. Once the group arrived at the lighthouse, they didn’t have to wait long for anything to happen. The doors to The Lighthouse swung open, and a greying human male in a military uniform approached.

"Once again, welcome to Rapture, and if you have forgotten my name. I am General Vladimir Skullus, the Overseer of the Lighthouse Command Authority. Before we descend into the Fatherland, please make sure you have everything be it items or servants that you wish you have on your person."

The General spoke, and many members of the gathering of diplomats and guards looked about themselves to ensure they had everyone and everything. The Mirian delegation stood firm, waiting for this to finish, and to proceed inside. Sindri noted when a woman in- an interesting choice of clothing- strode up to The General and attempted to initiate conversation. He could have rolled his eyes. Such a classic attempt at flattery. There was no way, he thought, that it could work. He never used the trick himself, if he could help it. He beckoned to one of his guards to come closer to him, before he whispered an order to keep an eye on that woman from a distance. The guard nodded, and returned to position. They all then stepped forth wordlessly and toward the elevator, with Vice President Huba only giving The General a nod of acknowledgment as they proceeded.