Ovidsidios

He smiled at her belligerence, wincing slightly at her yell. He took the moment to move towards an exit door to the outside balcony that encircled the building. He moved slow enough for her to see his foot leave through the door, but once outside waited patiently from within a blind spot for the empress to pass him by. When she looked both ways as to where he disappeared is when he snuck him behind her. And waiting for her to turn around, nearly an inaudible gasp leaving her lips upon seeing him, did he begin his final act. "I am but a nobody," he said humbly approaching the empress as he seemed to swoop into her arms, leading her into a waltz. He looked deeply into her eyes. Perhaps a man with his eyes aimed towards heaven. For to swoon an empress is certainly not for a pauper to dream. But he was polite, gentle, and never overbearing. It was all in the presentation, for in this world of lights and riches, nothing is ever what it seems. In their little dance, soft music, seemly from nowhere, begins to play softly from an unseen opening in his suit. "You assessment is correct, my lady, for I am indeed not the average citizen. But it would be misleading to even call me any sort of citizen." He twirled her gingerly allowing her own momentum to finish the spin before returning back to their original form. Continuing, "For as long as I can remember, I've had no real name. Most of my employers call me 魂のない子. They would summon me when they were in need of some task completed, and I, but a humble servant, oblige them." His face never broke in its innocence, and despite being a man in his prime, held a child like candor. But despite a wrinkled face of joy, his eyes hid behind them a story wrought with loss and woe. He twirled her once more before finalizing the waltz with a dip and kiss. In the moment he went for the kiss, his hand slid up the empress' leg. He only had one chance at this so the 50/50 odds were whether or not he chose the right leg. To his surprise, his smile giving him away, he did. The Empress pushed him off of her, managing to land a solid resounding slap across the face. He dramatically twirled backwards until his back touched the balcony. On impact the gentleman's back arched over, but more for effect. He leaned forward and twirled the dagger within his hand. He bowed dramatically as if concluding a theatrical performance, but as he lifted his waist, he used the dagger to cut from the left pant leg all the way up to his collar. As the clothes slide of his body, a second uniform was revealed. Rubber looking scales lined his entire body, as the suit he was wearing was skin tight, and was accessorized with a myriad of gadgets. He pulled out a gun from a holster that strapped parallel to his back. Pointing it to a street lamp, he fired, and it shot forward before attaching to it with a stainless steel spring prong. The handle detached from the barrel to serve as a brake while the handle itself locked on to the balcony rail. "Someday you will learn the spell that summons me, and you shall beckon for me, and I will come to you as I have Ren Inoue." Without waiting for a reaction, he leaps the balcony, and slides down the zipline. Upon reaching the lamp post, he dismounts landing without so much as a sound. At that moment, a black car pulls in from around the corner, he steps in, and they quickly pull away, turning once down a street and disappearing into the night.

He twirled the coin within his fingers before flipping it over his head. Somewhere in someone elses glass, a ¥1,000 chip has fallen. "Services rendered, Empress, are rewards unto themselves. However," he pulls a single flower from within his coats sleeve. He brings the flower to his nose seductively, before handing it to the empress. As she takes it from him, he smiles, "I will not keep you from your guests, my lady." He bows, "in truth, you've graced me with more than what I am worth." He turns to the rest of the group, nods his head in dismissal and shoots one more intriguing glance at the empress before flashing his eyebrows subtly at her. An invitation perhaps, however to what depends on her level of curiosity. He swims between crowds, stealing drinks where he can before disappearing onto the balcony. He looks down at his watch, and presses the dial inward. The rose in the empresses possession releases a small, unnoticeable cloud of pheromones towards her. With this illusive man within the forefront of her mind, the power of the gas begins to take hold. "The game is afoot" he smiles timing her arrival. And drops the empty champagne glass off the balcony.

The gentleman smiles as he smoothly steals a tray of hor dourves from a near by server. Dressed in a dark set tuxedo, rather than the common white garb of the surrounding servers, he glides effortlessly towards the empress, no doubt the woman he'd been looking for. As he tipped the tray towards the center of the circle of dignitaries, he more so presented the food for the empress alone. When she had grabbed what she had wanted, ignored the rest of the group, and handed the tray back towards the angry server who had tailed him from their first encounter. He took a sample from the tray, and scurried the server away as though any subsequent inconvenience was his fault. "You must be the illustrious Hoshiko" he said taking her hand gently in his, trying not to throw off her balance as she gingerly tried placing the morsel in her mouth while not breaking eye contact with the fellow. "What an honor it is to finally gaze upon who many call, a fallen star from heaven's crown." He raised her hands to his lips, likewise never detracting his gaze from hers.

He lifts a window several stories from the ground. Scaling was easy, breaking in was simple, but mingling, he hated it. He didn't even know why he agreed to this job, but where the rich flock (for their aristocratic frivolities) so too do their secret lives with them. [i]If only this was a hit[/i] he muttered, dragging off one of the unconscious waiters into the corner of an unoccupied room. As he fitted the suit he looked at his transparent reflection and a feeling of despondency filled his heart. He picked up the tray, and shrugging the feeling, walked out of the room. Before he did, he tore a small seam in his coat. Running into another server he "distressingly" showed the tear, where he was redirected to a store closet with extra tuxes. "The head host is going to boil you." "Yeah I know," he said, trying to play on the fascade. The coats were all the same, save a black one towards the back. A classic Italian cut tux jacket, with a matching set of pants. The server had already left him alone, and without missing a beat, dressed himself within a minute into the new suit. Fitting the final cuff on his shirt, he sneaks out of the room, and rounding a corner freely steals a champagne glass from another server. "That is not the way to the bathroom," he chides lowly as he sets the glass back onto the tray. Before the server can answer, he has already walked away towards the pretentious curs he had long hoped to avoid.

These cycles do not seem to end, but you [i]are[/i] We all fade, Ozymandias. For thou didst not despair and thus you too shall pass. For when you cried aloud "woe unto me, woe unto me" beating your chest, I thought you were of one who knew well of those things beyond the surface. Yet here I see you are those who stand on street corners crying aloud, "woe unto me, woe unto me" and beating your chest, instead of rapping your heart.

I am disappoint. When snows run red, clouds part on twilight solstices. There exists only one means by which a man can live freely. If you lie, are you real?

I agree, and that which is fair must be applied to all invariably. So what we do to one, I think, we should do for everyone. I have not kept up with everyone's argument, so forgive these broad strokes, but as it seems to me, a solution is quite viable: The problem with all this has to do with size. We expect the 50k+ nations to change, while providing them the standards to which they change. This seems both a conflict of interest and rather hypocritical. Therefore, why do we not all simply accept vanilla nations? To be fair, most of our role playing happens with the use RL objects, events, histories outside the game, than those specific in game details. I get that we help starting nations by letting them mold themselves after their ingame nation. However, this has proven problematic. As it stands, I think we're kind of stuck with only two options: either change everyone or don't let them in Because we've already failed as a community, and two rp worlds are imploding on themselves, but we haven't failed on being fair. For this scenario, I think we all need to make an important sacrifice, otherwise, how much is our resolve true to see this division solved?

Indeed May your enemies be many as a freshly felled forest

God's of Fear to this I hail o/

The Vellasian raised his eyebrows as he strained a smile. He slowly turned towards his guard who still stood at perfect attention, completely unaware of the current situation. He traced his gaze as if following a beam of light, and when he had collected his thoughts, sighed, and broke his gaze from this imaginable point. What world is this that everyone’s afraid to die? You press my request with a very tempting proposal. However, your offer seems negligent of this unyielding detail: only your King can receive this invaluable gift of Auroran amity. We cannot leave until this is done. He pressed his fingers to his lips, before making a gesture of feigned surrender I understand that in your role, with its natural deficiencies, these sort of matters seem trivial, but if a Kingdom refuses a Kingdom then friends are not made. He raises the box as though he were handing it to her, surfaces for binding men in words of script is not common practice in the lands of Aurora. When there is a bond to be formed between kings, we do not bring them the shackles of legislation. He withdraws the box till it rests close to his person, we bring tokens of trust and words bound in honor. Throughout his delivery he had moved in light paces. When he spoke it almost seemed like it was a distant thing, as if he were following a path in hopes of something. The Vellesian was by both age and rank older than his Moashan counterpart, and most often displayed tendencies of a jaded, pessimistic cynic who really had a love for nothing. Yet the burgeoning lands of this frozen country was everything as home as he could have wanted. Growing up in the jagged mountains of what was Hell’As-ko[1] rubbed off into his character. Very few Aurorans prefer the bitter, cold and arid winters or damp but still cold summers. They have a condescending undertone that stems from a self-developed apathy. But despite their subtle bite, there are rare moments when personality traits bleed past their natural influences, and even so for the Mundokiir of House Vellas. To stand in a room in a country so far from home, and yet could not be closer to it, was distracting. In Auroran I don’t think our visit here will be met with very much success. The Moashan didn’t move. Of course he wouldn’t, the success of this mission was on the Vellasian, not him. The Mundokiir smiled smugly, turning on his heels, and stood facing the lady diplomat This box is like shaking the hand of the entire Auroran Empire. I don’t know how you feel to have an extended hand swatted, but I can’t imagine it is a desirable feeling. Much less for an entire people. He courteously bowed, and addressed his companion with a click and nod of his head. Both of the Aurorans moved relatively close to the other on their way out the door. The Vellasian would point to certain pictures of famous men and address the Moashan very informatively. The Moashan, either out of sheer disinterest or expected protocol (perhaps a bit of both), never changed his expression or responded to the Mundokiir. The Vellasian stopped somewhere a little bit out of the room he was just in, before a picture of the current king, King….. [b]In Auroran[/b] Who is that? The Moashan queried after several moments that the Vellasian stood staring at the picture. This is the king of these Ice lands, and, like snapping out of a trance, the Vellasian turns back and proceeds to walk to the exit, mumbling to himself, and if they so will it, the King of all the Frozen Lands. [1] (Ar. Literally “front teeth protruding” follows an Auroran cosmological myth passed down through oral tradition.)

The Vellasian smiled warmly, nodding his head enthusiastically. “That would please us very much. I am so recent an initiate to the Vellasian Order of Septii Anaas[1] and this so happens to be my first diplomatic assignment as well as my first expedition out of my country. I was hoping to indulge myself in the honors and beauties of your homeland. I have learned much in the little time since our liberation, however, beyond the great oceans, I have never been.” He looked back to his Moashan security guard. In Auroran This leader has accepted our stay. We will proceed as ordered, however, I would first like to behold the splendors of his realm. The Moashan nodded. Do not delay. Once we were received, we have our priorities ordained for us. You may indulge in the free time you have, but then I must insist we return, as you are not the Vellasian I was asigned to protect. It took all the might and fortitude of this man to maintain the act he had thought to have so masterfully performed. He was young, but for his age, he was incredibly talented and disciplined. But he had been discovered, although the Moashan didn't seem accusatory. The guard slackened his posture, and seemed almost entirely relaxed as he shifted most of his weight to his side. It seems that the tables had been turned. You may peruse the city, and I will protect you as is my duty as Mundokiir to protect all Aurorans of House Moash, Moashan. The Moashan had been rousted from his hole, like a fox routed by a torch, but he was shocked even more that he had not recognized the Mundokiir this entire time. The thought of the experience must have so blinded his perception, that to know the Mundokiir stood before him was truly stunning. He bowed and turned back to the President. His composure unfaltering. We are happy to agree to your proposal. He turns and begins walking out of the office. Once parallel to the Mundokiir, the Moashan swiveld, nonchalantly, and both Aurorans proceeded in step with the other. In Auroran Where do you plan on visiting in your stay here? the Mundokiir asked as they walked into the midday sun. The man looked down at his grumbling stomach, and looking across the street in both directions, replied, How about finding something to eat. I hadn't realized how long that flight was. The Mundokiir nodded as a very low grumble affirmed his agreement Good idea. How about there? By your lead. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- [1] (which means, “they who speak”; traditionally meant to be voice of the Mundokiir, later adopted to serve as liaisons to neighboring houses. This role was retired shortly before the purge wars, and later reinstated after the creation of House Vellas.)

CNRP2----Hooray for CNRP2!!!! o/

ib4 "I was just messing with you"

The Auroran Government sends their regards to Director Markus Wilding, and wishes him good fortune, wisdom in leadership, and smooth sailing as he leads his country to greatness.

The Vellasian clicks his tongue as he shakes his head. His gaze slowly intensifies, which in turn magnifies the hypnotic fear he has instilled in the poor official. Their gazes lock, and the Vellasian’s eyes seem to be all the poor official can focus on as the aura envelops the two in a near mindless communion. To his defense, the fact that the official had not broken down in absolute horror, making hoarse his voice in an unbridled scream, spoke wonders of his innate fortitude. But he had made the mistake of pointing the gun at the illusion, instead of the stinger. A mistake, he will regret for the rest of his life… You are a Lactu! He said, adding extra emphasis to that final word. Do you know what that means? You Sic’nac kira! Despite the depth of annunciation he gave to his Auroran speech, he never seemed to break composure, or lose his calm. One You haven’t the slightest idea the disgrace you’ve brought to your country, do you? Two Or the trouble you’ve brought yourself? Three Too bad, because this will hurt. Before the official could have adequately assessed the true danger of the situation, the Moashan had already sidestepped passed the Vellasian, sword already midway out of its sheath. The momentum of his step gave him all the force he needed to perform what the Aurorans call Sic’nac Kira (which means ‘spinning defiance’). It begets a motion where the swordsman steps to the side. However, instead of a pivot (or an opposing motion where the swordsman would have to double the power output in his legs to keep the balance as well as proceed with the opposite foot), the swordsman continues in the direction of the step. The deception of the move is that the leading foot is not stepping but rather grounding itself for a ‘Revoltade’ movement. By the time the step is made, the sword must be halfway out its sheath. Following the step, the Moashan twirls(lifting but inches off the ground) in the direction of the step (allowing for the maximization of his sideways inertia), forcing the edge, already facing the official, out and up from under his wrist through it with a clean, seamless cut. As he doubles back to face the official, he slams the sheath into the inside of the knee where the impact snaps the lateral collateral ligament as it simultaneously shatters the fibula and tibia. The patella, in lieu from the sudden outward impact, buckles beneath the now unsupported weight of the officials body. The collision of his already decimated knee into the ground sends a shock up his spine that nearly causes him to black out. As he prepares to fall back from the now unbearable pain of a severed hand and devastated knee, he is grabbed by the collar by the Moashan who has already rested his bloody blade firmly against his sternohyoid muscle. As his gaze travels from the Moashan, tears streaming from his eyes, to the Vellasian he is greeted, not by eyes, but by the barrel of his own berretta. The Vellasian caught midair the severed hand in a single medial motion at seeming lightning speed. From the outside perspective, the Aurorans moved with such a mastery of grace, that they almost seemed to be dancing. For the two were in such synchronicity, that by the time it had all finished, only seconds had passed. In Auroran Take swift note of his failure, brother. For it was not in his inability to fight, but that he did not know that those words were not insults. For you see, they are limited to the context of the words. Where we understand words through tone. He moved his eyes to the Moashan, who dared not look into them choosing instead to fixate his stare onto the official. He failed because he was ignorant, his eyes, that seemed now like they belonged to a demon to the official, (who was losing blood rapidly from his severed wrist), fell back unto him. In Arabic If you want me to save your life, you’ll have to tell me where your superior officer is. Otherwise, he knelt meeting the officer on the same level such that their eyes were parallel with each other. For the first time throughout the entire affair, the Vellasian smiled and his voice adopted a tone of pure innocent jubilance. He spoke so that not even the Moashan could hear clearly among the murmuring crowd, you’ll die on the street like a dog. The Vellasian is standing now, both the official’s gun and hand at his side So, he tilted his head, with your good hand, adding a twist of sarcasm, point me in the right direction. It would be a miracle if at this point the official would be able to even muster an insult. But the Vellasian was patient. This was not the first soul he had tortured in his life, and would have not minded if he bled out in the street before the rest of the foreign scum.

The Vellasian, in exuberant candor, sets the box down next the president, turning it so the front of box was facing the presidents left side. It is traditional, when an Emperor is enthroned, that the surrounding lands are sent a symbol of the Emperor’s house in order to establish both ruling right and to open positive relations. However, during our occupation this tradition was removed with the death of our emperor. Our historical documents spoke of a land once divided into five precincts for each individual house. In our current day and age, that land has been reduced to a single country and the five houses have meditated much over the meaning of this state of affairs. Therefore, it is with a new interpretation of our recently emerging identity that we, instead of five separate houses, are one unified empire. His turns the box 90° to reveal the set jewels laid out to form the Uberteinian Flag. He rotates the box 180° in the same direction to show the other single set jewel and translates the words “Eye of Fury”, before turning the box full circle and opening the lid. The words, Eye of Fury, is the name our house leaders take when they reach the highest honor of Mundokiir. It symbolizes that we are the children of warrior gods. Often our enemies demonize our history as being one of war mongering and cannibalism. The Vellasian paused and looked at the President, with a smile that adds a hint of drama and suspense before continuing on unabated, but in truth, we were born of great struggle that is demonstrable in not only our very natures as creatures upon this planet, but in the very planet itself. Just as you have found that it is necessary for a country to be competent in warfare in order to ensure your political existence, so too we share that we must be uncompromising in our discipline if we are to ensure our ultimate survival His hands point to the golden letters melted into the inside lid. There are two columns, one which holds the Auroran words and in the second column the more vernacular translation. These words are sacred words from our holiest texts, The Mat’Te’Se, and as nonmember of House Dani, am forbidden to utter them here. However, they are a stanza taken from our epic prose: And night fell upon the fractured world, Where upon its despairing face, Fell fire and fury. And from the clash of sundered darkness Were born the children of the world, And they were Archindar Which means ‘Never Dying’. He took another pause as if letting the words themselves settle into every crevice of the room. He didn’t want to hold the silence for very long (and in truth it was seconds at best) but every Auroran knows the words and the story. The emotion that overcomes them is more often than not very difficult to ignore. Yet, he presses on moving into the box and removing an item covered in a bright crimson covered fabric. When he set it upon the table, fabric drapes over the elevated edge revealing only the bottom half of a small cushion equal in vibrancy of color. He did not remove the fabric, but instead reached within the box and removed a matching set of golden wings. He very carefully attached a thin golden chain unifying the wings. When the chain had fastened both wings, a tiny mechanism within each wings clicked causing springs to expand the wings causing smaller wings to drop out of a small canal once hidden in its compact form. The accessory seemed to come alive and spread its wings as though it were a bird. He very respectfully and cautiously looped the necklace over the presidents had resting it perfectly on his shoulders. The Golden wings framed his face with such aesthetic complementation, that even in his current attire, he looked deific in splendor. The wings are a symbol of admittance into our Empire. Our Emperor has decreed that no foreigner shall be allowed to step foot into our lands who do not carry the Moashan Wings of Liberating Strife. So long as you wear these wings upon reaching our lands, you will be granted admittance to all areas save the holy sights [sic], where our ancestors and gods once walked the earth together. When he noticed the President fiddling with the necklace, he very gingerly removed the fabric, there lay resting on the pillow one of the most ornate dagger, bearing the House Heraan emblem on its hilt, an Auroran smith would ever have the honor of producing. When the reflected light off of the dagger’s precious metal, and the glimmering jewels and fine embroidered design had caught the President’s eye, the Vellasian dropped down to one knee. I pray Mr. President you will not find offense, as this is our most difficult tradition to explain. Because we value the combat as the highest form of discipline, all emperors provide regional leaders with a dagger forged in their own blood. By accepting this dagger, you acknowledge our Emperor as your Blood Enemy. The Vellasian looks up from his knelt position and catches the President’s quizzical look, We pay you homage here and wish you no ill will. Within our tradition Blood Enemies will ensure the survival of their foes until such time open, fair, combat can be achieved. This is not to say that our Emperor seeks to do battle with your highness sometime in the distant future, rather it is a promise that an Emperor would never cowardly resort to assassinations to end his enemies. Our Honor forbids such dark practice, and in truth, this royal dagger ensures, so long as an emperor holds breathe, you will never succumb to such a fate. We hope you will accept this gift in the spirit that our Emperor will never seek your demise in methods dark and dishonorable. The Vellasian rises and extends a hand in pure fellowship. If this pleases you, Mr. President, this is the conclusion of the ceremony. We pray that these gifts are to your liking, for the very Mundokiir’s of each house fashioned them for you. The room seemed to become lighter in spirit with the conclusion of the ceremony. Indeed, the very gravity that beset all parties in the room since their arrival had noticeably lifted, and the Vellasian emissary had seemingly lost all roles of importance, appearing, in feeling, before the President as a long forgotten friend.

The Vellasian Emissary is taken aback by the bountiful kindness of the German people. Facing the representative, he remarks kindly, I am honored by your munificent benevolence, and my leaders would be as well. Our journey here is to establish positive relationship with the German government. However, this would not be in the form of political affirmations of any form of alliance. Perhaps these gifts can be liquidated and offered to the poor of your country? We are but humble emissaries without the proper authority to validate an embassy, and our mission here is important as it us humble. He bows and reveals the gift to be presented to Chancellor Louisa Zilberschlag, We are here to entrust that this priceless gift from the five houses of the Auroran Empire makes its way into the Chancellors hands. I regret to inform you that we can do no more than this.

The Vellasian bows his head, his face seems entirely devoid of emotion (life, you might even say) and his half open eyes fall on the low-level official. His voice, equally empty of any life, flows from his lips with an eerie tone that it cannot be said to be spoken with disinterest or concern. Apathy even would be a complete understatement. It is pure emptiness. The words, as they echo throughout the officials ear canal, and into the brain, feel like they would rob him of his very soul, and the seeming discomfort the Vellasian’s aura seems to bring is near demonic. We are of the Auroran Empire. Emissaries sent by our prestigious empire to bear this invaluable gift to your President. In gratitude for your Presidents political stance to our most recent conception, our finest citizens have fashioned a medley of tokens to manifest this gratitude. The Vellasian asses the official’s uniform and, satisfied in his judgment of the man adds, curtly, I take it any higher ranking official must be deathly ill? If you’re quick to take us to your President, I will not report of such wanton disrespect to my leaders. Where had anybody else spoken those same words, emotions would have surely erupted in any able minded individual. However, given the hollowness of the words spoken, it would have caused anyone to double take to realize that an insult had been made. That is of course, if the desolation behind such words would have even registered giving their very dulling nature.

The Vellasian smiled, not all, madam Elsa. Your foods are perfectly sufficient for us-….he angles his head to the side, not quite making eye contact with fellow emissary, but implying it none the less, well, for me at least. I hope you will not be disturbed if in the presence of two bodies, you will only hear one voice. My compatriot here is an escort, and shall serve no other duty than to ensure I am protected long enough to get this box to your leader. He swivels the box with ease, letting it twirl in perfect balance on his index finger. Had Elsa been trained in the strictest of disciplines as every Auroran soldier would have been (this Vellasian being a very extreme exception), she would have been able to feel the sudden, most infinitesimal discomfort in the Moashan from such a trick. He doesn’t keep the act going for long, and the box stops suddenly beneath the grasp of all five fingers of the same hand, with the jeweled formed flag of the Kingdom of Sverige. Now Elsa, I have not had the honor to tour the grandeur of your country, or witness the history of your proud people, and the only cities I have laid my eyes upon were those seen as specks from our journey to your homeland. Where your camaraderie and presence I am most excited to entertain in what would be a most memorable stay, his face that had been humoring a smile that throughout danced between pretentious ploy and genuine amity had suddenly stiffened, and though his tone and facial manners shifted, his tone didn’t seem to loose it’s alluring appeal, it is important that before any revelries are shared, I must first see your King. The Moashan who had detected the sudden shift in his partner’s energy, had slowly moved his gaze to try and read the current developing situation. Though the Moashan did not know the language the two were sharing, one universal language all animals shared was beyond expression in words, but of sound, stance, and muscle tension. Perhaps the Vellasian was leading him on, perhaps he was trying a battle dance with the woman that he was unfamiliar with. After all, the only culture the Moashan ever knew about was his own. Women, were also entreated in a similar fashion of to and fro courtship. Where the training of Vellasian diplomats were sometimes shrouded in exaggerative claims by those Aurorans not priviledged to learn them (just like each house had their own special training courses) ,the Moashan did not forget that, of all the Vellasian Emissaries sent out on their unified mission for peace, he was was partnered with the Mundokiir of House Vella. In the mind of the Moashan His tricks are willy, and his performances seem questionable at best. But this is Archekro… His mind flashes back to something Mundokiir Turo'Mar of House Moash had told him before he left A word of advice, soldier, you have been paired with Archekro because, of all the cultures we have sent diplomats to, the Kingdom of Sverige is the Mundokiir’s favorite. Do not underestimate his guile and cunning. He could easily put you under your own sword without the effort of batting an eye. He is the only Vellasian who is skilled in martial profession equivalent to Arbiters. You best keep out of his way, and follow very closely any instructions he gives you. If he says, eat, eat; if he says drink, drink. The Moashan nodded, saluting at once to the words his House Leader had told him. And another thing, ensure that once he has delivered the box he comes straight back here. Archekro has an…eccentric…personality. Not one weakened to lavish foods or riches, but those of culture, history, and architecture. The sole existing heir to House Vella needs to return home. He can see all those sights he wishes from the safety and security of our sacred lands. You are dismissed. His mind snaps back to the current situation The Moashan breaks his gaze from the two and continues staring off into the distance. In the Moashan's mind I wonder what Archekro see’s in these people. I wonder what any Vellasian sees in anyone.

The Vellasian Emissary inclined his head, and was a little perplexed on the potential developing situation. The Vellasian was followed closely by his compatriot, who would have then been followed by the minister. The Vellasian, familiar with the roles filled by those within the Cascadian government, knew that Minister Winkelman was not whom they were expecting to see. In fact, if memory served, Minister Winkleman was no one whose name was on the dossier the Vellasian was given to expect. The Moashan, on the other hand, was puzzled they were being received by a woman. With all due respect, the Vellasian said once both he and his compatriot had settled in the office, we were expecting to see the King. The contents within this box are for him and him alone, and the revealing ceremony is as well for his own entertainment. We are forbidden to let this gift pass from our hands to anyone else.” The Vellasian looked around the room, creating a spell of awkward discomfort before adding, we would be more than happy to wait, while you inform him of our arrival. Our correspondences with him had been sent some time ago, and so our reception is appointed. If we have come at a time such that his presence cannot be afforded to us, we also understand. The Vellasian stood and the Moashan was at attention, as both made no motion to leave, but the option was fairly close to being decided. However, our government leaders may not view our return with the King’s gift in a positive light, and relations would be detrimentally hampered, despite our esteemed appreciation for your King’s recognition of our sovereignty. The Vellasian stood looking into the eyes of the minister, his gaze unwavering. Indeed, there was a great concern in his eyes that was never betrayed by his face. Perhaps the minister could see that, behind the calm, attentive posture, his collected appearance, there was a great fear of his returning home after a failed diplomatic endeavor. For though a Vellasian is understood to be inherently empathetic towards the cultures and tendencies of the world outside of Aurora, it is not necessarily true that any other Auroran would be equally as forgiving. The orders to all the Vellasians chosen on these diplomatic forays was the highest governing official, or no one at all (and they shouldn’t even bother coming home if the box was tampered with by any other hands than theirs). And so the ultimatum for the minister was as such, Therefore, Madam, it is of paramount importance our reception is held by the King himself, or we must be forced to return to our home with the severest, and most tragic of news.

The Moashan looked over to his Vellasian counterpart. The Vallas emissary smiled and nodded, and in barely audible Auroran It is alright, brother. The sword would be the least of their worries. The Moashan nodded, and began removing the sword from his side. He never broke eye contact from the security guard as his hands move in a flurry of grace and accuracy that could only imply that the very tying of something as insignificant as a sword to a uniform was taken with great seriousness to the Aurorans, as the sword was motionless throughout the entire affair. Within moments, the Moashan had untied the ritual band that bound him to his ceremonial weapon, flipped the sheathed sword from his side into his hands (folding the fabric mid twist), and bowed presenting the sword to the guard We will be back for it, the Vellasian added as the guard was about to take the weapon. Do not get too attached to it, his warm smile and friendly tone attempting to convey no ill feelings to the guard. As they were lead into the room, they were greeted by a very charismatic gentlman. The Vellasian, familiar with the handshake, accepted with equal firmness. As was expected, the Moashan held back (several feet) and turned about face to stand facing the wall. Although, he didn't take his eyes off the handshake to ensure it was nothing more than a greeting. You'll have to forgive his stalwart disposition, Mr President, the Vellasian said still smiling exuberantly but he is of House Moash, and they are neither accustomed nor trained to handle diplomatic engagements. They are on security detail, and that will be, through pain of death, the extent of his limitations. Throughout the entirety of that sentence, the Vellasian humored the very subject of death with a serenity in tone as though it were an option to have cream with his coffee. He bows and presents the President with the box he had been holding firmly since their arrival. This is for you from our Emperor and his consulate. We would like to extend our gratitude for acknowledging our existence before the international community. We believed we would have to forge a new identity as our ancestors did, through struggle, blood, and war. However, hearing the affirming cry of the world behind our sovereign identity instilled us with new cause to live. The citizens of our Empire were happy to hear of those nations who stood by us in solidarity. Each House Mundokiir has fashioned a gift for all the world's leaders who risked their own political capital to support our rise as a nation. We do not take such a gift for granted. [i]The Vellasian warmly motions for the President to sit,[/i] Please Mr. President, make yourself comfortable while I explain the contents of this box at your leisure.

[OOC:The capital of the Auroran Empire is Archindar, not Bogota. City names will become available very soon. The correction is simply for the record, lest I forget. I also take it your diplomats are arriving by Jet?] Off the North Eastern point of Aurora (Known as Spear’s Tip; Oktara) an advanced warning radio tower transmitted a warning signal to the homeland. Moashan security forces scrambled a pair of A-37 Dragonflies to intercept the unauthorized, and unidentified flying aircraft. Moashan air force had no desire to flex their military capabilities, but a squadron of IAI Kfir’s were on standby in case either pilots radioed in a message of noncompliance. Static interrupts the silence as the captain receives his orders from the mainland. In Auroran Your orders, Captain, are to intercept and identify the incoming aircraft vessel. Intentions, nationality, and whether or not they are a threat to our people. Do not underestimate the quantity of the craft. Our immergence from slavery does not make us invulnerable. You are to escort their aircraft to the Mumaku (modern day Aruba) Island. They are not to proceed to Auroran airspace. I repeat his voice adopting a tone of such severity, even the Captain’s hair prickled beneath his heavily laden g-suit you will not allow that aircraft to enter into Auroan airspace. I would rather have a 1,000 falling burning corpses than one foreigner place a single foot on our sacred lands. Aye, Mundokiir Turo'Mar. It shall be as you command. The transmission ends with a static chirp, before the Captain relays the orders to his wingman. His wingman raises his right hand, signaling his understanding, and they both proceed to the aircraft’s last known trajectory. Their J85-GE-17A turbojet engines propel them over crystalline waters. For several miles, they fly through pristine weather conditions, thanking the gods for the opportunity to stretch their wings. Even the potential, albeit unlikely, threat is welcomed as no Moashan fighter has known combat since before the fall of the Empire. In less than an hour, the two fighters notice a small speck moving closer to them at a reasonable speed. Their long range radar scanners confirm the matching trajectory and the singularity of the incoming object. In Auroran This looks to be our target. Do not engage until I give the signal. It dawned on the captain that he did not know the nationality, let alone the language, of this incoming ship. Communicating was going to be difficult at best. Still in Auroran This is Captain Sonete of the Moashan Aerial Defense Fleet. You are in direct violation of restricted Auroran Airspace. No foreigners are allowed beyond international waters. State your nationality, and intentions, and be prepared to be escorted to the offshore island of Mumaku. The Captain looks over to his wingman, and signals for them both to split up and take defensive position behind the aircraft while he parallels their port side. Both pilots reach matching velocity with the foreign airplane and await a response from the unknown visitor

[i]The Moashan does not budge to eat of the fruits or water, whereas the Vellasian gladly, but in a reserved fashion, picks up a peach and bites into it.[/i] The following conversation is in one of the many dialects of Auroran [i]The Vellasian turns to his compatriot, as a drop of the nectar hangs from the corner of his mouth[/i] Do you think the warriors of these people are similar in custom to our own? Or do you find them as equally undisciplined as I do? [i]He bites into the peach again, this time wiping the juice that wets his mouth with a napkin he kept tucked away within his sleeve[/i] Do you think it prudent to demonstrate such disregard to our customs, but feasting before meeting their leader? [i]The Moashan said barely in an audible tone[/i] It seems unbecoming of an Auroran to display such signs of disregard to our customs beyond our sacred walls. [i]The Vellasian smiled, throwing the core into the nearest waste basket[/i] These people value eccentricity. Something "like" them. Why else do you think it befalls the Vellas to communicate with them, hmm? [i]The Moashan raises an incredulous eyebrow at the Vellasian[/i] Otherwise, you'd see their eradication were we would seek to coexist. [i]The Moashan held his tongue, as the dignitary carried rank on this diplomatic mission. However, what the Vellasian spoke of cut deeper than anything a foreigner could understand. It was a great division that still plagued the Auroran people since the purge wars. With the admittance of House Vella into Auroran society, it begged the question if other cultures could be assimilated through similar means. It would have occupied the mind of the Moashan bodyguard, had not noises indicating an impending change of scenery stole him away from his own wandering mind[/i].

Neither of the Auroran emissary's seemed taken aback by the grandiosity of the throne room. Their approach to the throne was slow and deliberate, and their expressions were peaceful yet distant. The Moashan stopped several feet before the Vellasian and turned about face, until he was facing the wall in absolute stilled discipline. The Vellasian continued forward but a few feet, where there he slowly fell prostrate before the empress as his arms stretched outward to place the box before her. Still on his kness, the Vellasian erects his back, focuses his eyes that he is never looking the empress in the face, (but rather to where her knees barely jut from her flowing robes) and, in fluent Japanese, addressed the empress, Your Imperial Majesty, Empress Hoshiko, Grand Cordon of the Supreme Order of the Chrysanthemum, Grand Cordon of the Order of the Paulownia Flowers, Grand Cordon of the Order of the Precious Crown, Grand Cordon of the Order of the Sacred Treasure History has called your mighty home the land of the rising sun. We have a legend that says when our Mountain Sun (the sun that sets behind what is considered the Andean Mountain Range known to the Aurorans as “The Arm of AOR”) meets our Sea Sun, we shall transcend to the place where our ancestors reside. What an honor it is that we, humble Auroran’s, stand in the very throne room of the Kingdom of the rising sun. He smiles warmly, bowing just his head before speaking again. It is traditional, when an Emperor is enthroned, that the surrounding lands are sent a symbol of the Emperor’s house in order to establish both ruling right and to open positive relations, even if the ruler is at odds with a neighboring house. But this tradition was eradicated because we were not historically prepared for the arrival of foreigners on our soil. Our precious continent was once divided into five precincts for each individual house. Now, we are limited to a humble country and the five houses have meditated much over the meaning of this state of affairs. Therefore, it is with a new interpretation of our recently emerging identity that we, instead of five separate houses, are one unified empire. His hands dance gingerly across the box, ever gracefully turning it to reveal the set jewels laid out to form the Japanese Flag. He turns the box to show the other single set jewel and translates the words “Eye of Fury” Those words, he explains are the names our house leaders take when they reach the highest honor of Mundokiir. It symbolizes that we are the children of warrior gods. Often our enemies demonize our history as being one of war mongering and cannibalism. The Vellasian smiled subtly as if to hint to a deeper irony of the true barbarism of civilized societies but in truth, we were born of great struggle that is demonstrable in not only our very natures as creatures upon this planet, but in the very planet itself. Much like the warriors that detail that tapestry that is the very history of your empire like fine embroidery, we too believe in a code of honor. For without it, we are nothing. He turns the front of the box to face the Empress and opens it. The first thing revealed are golden letters melted into the inside lid. There are two columns, one which holds the Auroran words and in the second column the Japanese translation. Because these words are sacred words from our holiest texts I, a Vellasian, nonmember of House Dani, am forbidden to utter them beyond the walls of the Empire. However, they are a stanza taken from our epic prose: And night fell upon the fractured world, Where upon its despairing face, Fell fire and fury. And from the clash of sundered darkness Were born the children of the world, And they were Archindar Which means ‘Never Dying’. Without missing a beat his hands moved into the box and removed an item covered in a bright crimson covered fabric. When he set it down, it became apparent that the item itself was resting atop a very small cushion. He did not remove the fabric, but instead reached within the box and removed a matching set of golden wings. He very carefully attached a thin golden chain unifying the wings. When the chain had fastened both wings, a tiny mechanism within each wings clicked causing springs to expand the wings causing smaller wings to drop out of a small canal once hidden in its compact form. The accessory seemed to come alive and spread its wings as though it were a bird. He laid the necklace so that it surrounded the veiled, cushioned item creating a mini throne. Removing the fabric, there lay resting on the pillow one of the most ornate dagger, bearing the House Heraan emblem on its hilt, an Auroran smith would ever have the honor of producing. I pray the Empress will not find offense, as this is our most difficult tradition to explain. Because we value combat as the highest form of discipline, all emperors provide regional leaders with a dagger forged in their own blood. By accepting this dagger, you acknowledge our Emperor as your Blood Enemy. The Vellasian bows respectfully, and continues to speak prostrate before the Empress. We honor your beauty and majesty and this is no threat. Within our tradition Blood Enemies will ensure the survival of their foes until such time open, fair, combat can be achieved. This is not to say that our Emperor seeks to do battle with your highness sometime in the distant future, rather it is a promise that an Emperor would never cowardly resort to assassinations to end his enemies. Our Honor forbids such dark practice, and in truth, this royal dagger ensures, so long as an emperor holds breathe, you will never succumb to such a fate. However, you are more than welcome to it as a gift to symbolize an open relationship between our Emperor and yourself. The Vellasian slowly returns to an upright position, before continuing If this pleases you, your highness this is the conclusion of the ceremony. We pray that these gifts are to your liking, for the very Mundokiir’s of each house fashioned them for you. The wings here are a symbol of admittance into our Empire. Our Emperor has decreed that no foreigner shall be allowed to step foot into our lands who do not carry the Moashan Wings of Liberating Strife. So long as you wear these wings upon reaching our lands, you will be granted admittance to all areas save the holy sights [sic], where our ancestors and gods once walked the earth together. The Vellasian remained kneeling, the gifts of the Auroran Empire strewn before the empress, waiting patiently for permission to move. Indeed, he knelt with such equanimity, that he almost seemed to be in stasis; a statue of devote Auroran discipline.

[i]Both emissary's wait patiently to be seen. The Vellasian sits in near perfect posture, his face betraying no sign of impatience or unfocus. The box sits comfortably, and unforced in his lap as his fingers barely hold it in place, as though in deep meditation. The Moashian soldier stands about face of the Vellasian emissary. His hands rest unthreateningly on the hilt of his ceremonial sword, as his eyes focus off onto some distant point on the wall. They both wait there, patiently, quietly, unwilling to disturb their hosts or their surroundings who have been most accommodating in receiving them.[/i]