Kal created us all, and he loves us all. In the end, we are all just vast extensions of his glorious Flame, the Flame that lights the way in darkness and burns away foulness and evils. Kal does not care whether you are a Kallab or a human or even an elf. He made all of them at the same time with the exact same will in the exact same moment.

At least, that's what Mulspan believed, and that's what he so desperately wanted his people to embrace. So many years of prejudice, discrimination, and mistrust stood like a gaping canyon between the Kaliabis and the Humans. He was simply trying to build a bridge. But for every inch on that bridge, there was someone waiting behind him to burn the wood and bend the nails.

There were now clear divisions between KalMea. Sides were being taken, lines were being drawn:

The East was most closely connected to Tin physically, and held the highest population of Tinites. The fifty percent of humans that made up the East were seldom oppressed or hated in the agricultural fields and rural forests of this land. It was there that humans and Kaliabis worked, ate, slept, gained wealth, lost wealth, laughed, died and loved together. It was there that people of all races could find solace in their common connections, and it was there that Mulspan was born.

The West, in amazing contrast, was over ninety-seven-percent K.K.K. (Kal-worshiping KalMean Kallabis), the other three out of one-hundred consisting mainly of either Tin or Yamatai origin. That almost all of the infinitesimal number of humans in this territory followed Kal's Flame did not seem to matter, however, to those many Kaliabis who feared Ajdar. In the minds of some, to be a human was to be an Ajdar, and to be an Ajdar was to be an enemy of Kal, and to be an enemy of Kal was to be hardly a real person.

What was sickly ironic about this whole thing was how economically inter-connected the West was to Tin- this was were the vital manufacturing went on, after all. Most everyone was either a factory laborer or a factory manager of some sorts, and statisticians had found that human workers were made only one Nivala (the KalMea currency) for every four made by Kallabis- a wage gap of an astounding seventy-five percent. Although the Temple of Kal's Passion was small, it was unlikely to face much direct criticism anywhere on the western end.

The tide suddenly surged forward and bathed Mulspan's naked feet in foaming water. The sun was setting on Tal-Ve, and the exalted KalSol had come once more to find his peace on the golden beaches. He still found it strange how so few ever ventured out to the shore just beyond their city- everyone was so distracted with toiling away and sweating the skin right off their bones, they never bothered to stop and gaze at the beauty just outside the factory walls.

But Mulspan couldn't blame them this time. The storm that raged through their fair city just recently had been, as the KalSol had guessed, one of the worst in Tal-Ve's long, bloody history. It was fortunate that Kaliabis had a long-standing habit of building homes from stone and metals. When that cyclone forced it's way through, it just glanced harmlessly off the strong buildings and pummeled itself uselessly against the unforgiving walls. But that did not stop it from toppling the wooden shacks the poor lived in, leaving even more homeless shambling about the roads, unable to find food nor aid for all their suffering.

He traversed the beaches again, up to his palace, where he had been arguing with Lord Hamry as the first bolts of lightning struck wherever they could.

Mail awaited him at the doors, this time. Two letters, both sealed tightly shut. Mulspan quickly commanded his servant to hand him the letters, and he proceeded to his well-furnished but dimly lit private quarters. After getting lost twice in the absurd hallways, that is. It was often repeated that only one with the "mind of a Kaliab" could find their way through the winding, twisting ups-and-downs of the KalMea Central Palace, but Mulspan found that even Kaliab's couldn't navigate. Once a visitor from the East (for Tal-Ve was a firmly western city) had gotten lost for a full day, before a search party found him looting all the food in the second kitchen.

Mulspan sat in his favorite red and blue dolphin-leather chair, overlooking a roaring fire in a stone hearth. A cozy roost.

Of the two letters he had been given, the first caught his eye immediately. It bravely bore the official seal of the Sultanate- a complex dragon engraved in black wax. Besides, Mulspan could see the stain of blood even though the fine paper it had been so crudely smeared on. It was disgusting. Barbaric, even, how they ruined such gorgeous paper.

Nonetheless, anything from the Sultanate was of the utmost importance. They could boast influence over many humans still residing in Kal's Lands, and they had stood strong by Kal's side (whether they realized it or not) for many, many years now.



As was tradition, after closing the letter he sealed it with white wax baring a black flame- the Symbol of Kal. The letter was written, of course, in the language of Tin. He was impressed at the Sultan's apparent skill in KalMean- especially considering that he was not expected to be the next ruler- but he did not want to insult Tin by favouring his own language.

The dragon rested in the callused palm of Babur's hand. A fine piece of metalwork it was: a handmade metal dragon forged from solid gold, enameled with several priceless jewels. The flat dragon had each an every scale painstakingly apparent, two magnificently large and finely cut rubies for brazen eyes, its claws extended for prey and its maw wide open, complete with teeth forged from white platinum. The thing's tale was long, flat, and pointed. The small metal dragon, or rather its tail, was the royal letter opener.

There was a royal letter opener, and the tiny thing was no doubt worth more than the average man's house. Somewhat disgusted by his own ostentatious wealth, Babur promised himself that he would donate alms to the poor later that day. He then proceeded to jab the golden letter opener into the ornate envelope that had been delivered to his desk from KalMea. After ripping it open, he pulled out the letter within. He analyzed the letter's contents beyond thoroughly, meticulously taking in each sentence one by one.

So the KalSol offered his assurances that the problem would be resolved, claimed that he had a means of fixing the problem, then refrained from so much as to enlightening a fellow sovereign as to what he might do, for supposed security reasons. For security reasons. As if he had not the slightest trust in the Sultanate's good intentions or intelligence, as if the KalSol had expected the Sultan leak word or be in cohorts with Kal extremists. The rest of the letter was polite enough, yet the implications of 'security reasons' were enraging. Perhaps Tin could have been of some assistance to any plans had they been informed of what said plans were, but of course Babur doubted that the Kallabis intended to take any course of action at all. Perhaps he would be pleasantly surprised by some steps that the KalSol would take, but the Sultan wasn't holding his breath.

With a sigh, he set about doing his own work. He had three formal invitations written: one for the Tsar of Ventium, one for the President of Dong Wei, and another to the KalSol, though Babur did not deign to add anything their previous exchange in this letter to the KalSol. The letters were invitations for these leaders to come to Saroy City for diplomatic talks, specifically concerning the Zanjir Islands and Yllendthyr's 'unlawful occupation' of what Tin perceived to be its lands. While the invitations did not mention it specifically, any leader that accepted the Sultan's invitation wouldn't be wrong to assume that the topic of Avalia and the PRK might come up as well.

It went without saying that the leaders would be under Babur's protection if they entered Tin, but it was put in wording as well. Tin had something of a reputation for being hostile to foreigners and invitations to visit were rare indeed, so Babur intended to be particularly welcoming with his wording. After all, it would be something of a diplomatic blow and an embarrassment to the nation if word got out that one of the invited leaders chose not to attend the talks.

When that task was done and those letters were sent, Babur still had more work to do. There was one more letter to write, though this one would not go down on paper. Rather, it would be sent via telegraph to the Tinite ambassador within Yllendthyr, and then translated into elven and sent to the elven emperor, prime minister, and several other high-ranking national officials.

Granted, neither Babur nor his council thought anything would come of this message (Tolon Bey, the minister of diplomacy, went so far as to label it as an outrageous threat that could spark a war) but Babur reasoned that it was worth sending. Of course, the elves would never willingly cede their colony, but at least it would give Tin the right to say that they had tried to handle the situation with diplomacy.

As the group was led inside, Helena walked between the two leaders, making light conversation with both before they entered there more serious discussions. "I must say Premier Commissar, I was somewhat surprised to see your Tinite adviser with you, I am thankful he wasn't immediately shot by my security on accident!" Helena said with a chuckle as they entered the meeting room. On the east wall, four touring windows allowed plenty of the warm sunlight in to naturally light the room. In its center was a long wooden desk, with four chairs on either side, and one on the center end. Finally, on the west wall, three paintings of previous Chancellors hung, level and neat. At the table, sat Walt Hoffer, Airborne Commander of Avalia's Airborne fleet, who rose upon the entry of the leaders.

"Good day to you, Prime Minister. Pardon me with not giving your name, but with this old noggin of mine, I wouldn't want to offend you by butchering your name. I am the commander of Avalia's Airborne Fleet and welcome to my proud nation. Last I heard, the research exchange programs were a great success for both of us." he said, shaking the hand of the Prime Minister. He then turned to the Commissar. "Ahh, and Premier Commissar Velikaya, the hero of the people in the PRK. The stories do not do your appearance justice."

With formalities over with, the group finally took their seats. An assistant entered the room and placed a few folders next to Helena, who thanked the assistant and began to open one of them. "Well then, let us finally begin. Starting with the elephant in the room, The Sultanate of Tin. We might come from fairly different nations, as I am not ignorant to the fact that the Empire of Yllendthyr and the PRK may not see eye to eye on a great many things, but I think we can all agree that Tin is a simmering threat. My nation has shared a heavily fortified border with them, and while I had hopped that maybe this new Sultanate "Tartu Babur" might have a more modern view, it seems that, in fact, we might see one of the most fearsome, hostile sultanate yet. They are too rooted in tradition I guess to be reasoned with. The number of guns pointed at my nation's border only grew, not shrunk, these past few months. Avalia has naturally cut off any trade with them recently, and I am expecting some sort of response soon from them. Whether its increasing their sanctioned barbaric piracy or all war is unknown." She paused for a moment, closing one of the folders.

"For now, there is peace, but war with Tin is inevitable. While I can assure that my nation will never conquer or annex a foot of Tin land, I will openly tell you, great leaders, that both me and the senate have discussed a preemptive strike of some sort. However, it may not be worth it, as it may be unpopular with other nations. Sadly I cannot fully gauge how others may react to a preemptive strike, even if its in the name of defending my nation in the long run... Well, in any case, that is were my nation currently stands with Tin."

5th of September, 1939
Valkalia, Greater Republic of Avalia
Cyntwleidyddion Hîr Radidnahr en'Lóthien Gosodnelh

As the group was led inside, Helena walked between the two leaders, making light conversation with both before they entered there more serious discussions. "I must say Premier Commissar, I was somewhat surprised to see your Tinite adviser with you, I am thankful he wasn't immediately shot by my security on accident!" Helena said with a chuckle as they entered the meeting room. On the east wall, four touring windows allowed plenty of the warm sunlight in to naturally light the room. In its center was a long wooden desk, with four chairs on either side, and one on the center end. Finally, on the west wall, three paintings of previous Chancellors hung, level and neat. At the table, sat Walt Hoffer, Airborne Commander of Avalia's Airborne fleet, who rose upon the entry of the leaders.

"Good day to you, Prime Minister. Pardon me with not giving your name, but with this old noggin of mine, I wouldn't want to offend you by butchering your name. I am the commander of Avalia's Airborne Fleet and welcome to my proud nation. Last I heard, the research exchange programs were a great success for both of us." he said, shaking the hand of the Prime Minister.

"Greetings, Sir Walt Hoffer. I'm delighted to hear your courteous concern though you have no need to worry. Yllendthyr's nobles aren't as conceited to expect people mentioning their full title at all times. Sir Gosodnelh would do." The prime minister answered in his usual courteous and nearly musical tone. No, there are actually elven nobles who grew arrogant enough to be offended by such a simple matter. But they also prefer to isolate themselves within their lands and never leave Yllendthyr. Hîr Radidnahr en'Lóthien Gosodnelh was their exact opposite. He had shown tolerance to other races which he may not allow for his own kind. Radidnahr believed that all sentient races were made equal in front of Eru Illuvatar; all people had their strengths, weaknesses and destined role in His divine plan.

"Indeed, the cooperation with Avalia is a rather enlightening experience to our engineers. Your ideas in aviation impressed even the Ymherodr (Emperor) himself. I'll be looking forward to see our results together." Radidnahr continued as the two men shook hands. Both Avalia and Yllendthyr profited much from their cooperation. Elven precision and mechanical knowledge combined with Avalia's aircraft inventions was almost like a match made in heaven. Following the exchange the Prime Minister met with several more Avalian officials and went through the same ceremony. He didn't mind any of the formalities, though. He was an elven noble, compared to home affairs the Avalian welcome ceremony was plain and quick to the point.

With formalities over with, the group finally took their seats. An assistant entered the room and placed a few folders next to Helena, who thanked the assistant and began to open one of them. "Well then, let us finally begin. Starting with the elephant in the room, The Sultanate of Tin. We might come from fairly different nations, as I am not ignorant to the fact that the Empire of Yllendthyr and the PRK may not see eye to eye on a great many things, but I think we can all agree that Tin is a simmering threat. My nation has shared a heavily fortified border with them, and while I had hopped that maybe this new Sultanate "Tartu Babur" might have a more modern view, it seems that, in fact, we might see one of the most fearsome, hostile sultanate yet. They are too rooted in tradition I guess to be reasoned with. The number of guns pointed at my nation's border only grew, not shrunk, these past few months. Avalia has naturally cut off any trade with them recently, and I am expecting some sort of response soon from them. Whether its increasing their sanctioned barbaric piracy or all war is unknown." She paused for a moment, closing one of the folders.

"For now, there is peace, but war with Tin is inevitable. While I can assure that my nation will never conquer or annex a foot of Tin land, I will openly tell you, great leaders, that both me and the senate have discussed a preemptive strike of some sort. However, it may not be worth it, as it may be unpopular with other nations. Sadly I cannot fully gauge how others may react to a preemptive strike, even if its in the name of defending my nation in the long run... Well, in any case, that is were my nation currently stands with Tin."

Radidnahr listened attentively to the Avalian Chancellor. Indeed, compared to the previous generations Babur was more proactive. Whether this meant the new Sultanate became a threat or not is another matter, though. The young hatchling of a Sultan only officially took the throne four days ago. Of course Radidnahr learned to not underestimate humans for their youth as the man who effectively changed Yllendthyr during the revolution was said to be just barely 22. Regardless talking about preemptive strike seems rather hasty for now. Should he remind the Chancellor? No, from the sounds of it the decision in Avalia was practically a done deal. Lady Vortzeria would never speak so openly about this matter otherwise. As expected the Chancellor jumped straight to the most difficult topic at hand. On its own way that quality of hers was actually rather admirable.

Besides, Tin has been a thorn in Yllendthyr's side for a while now. So it was for the new Kataylabinsk Republic that viewed Tin as the most abhorable icon of imperialism. Fighting a war to free the Tinities from the Sultanate's evil would be a sure way for Velikaya to get re-elected. Helena Vortzeria had a simple but rather effective plan here, Radidnahr mentally complimented her once again. Which meant he had no choice but to play along with her scheme. "I agree, the Tinite Dragon is awakening from its 250 years old slumber. I had fortune meeting Sultans from the previous generations and Tartu Babur Genghis Khaghan seems to be unlike any of them. Reports say he follows the old values and seeks to restore Tin to its former bloodstained reputation. He's young but also determined. I concur with the Chancellor's assessment that he would eventually become a threat to our peace." Radidnahr said that and he also meant it. He just omitted several sentences from his speech. "These are recent news so I would not expect you are aware yet. Four days ago on midnight the Tinite-Yllendthyr border on Zanshir came under a series of vile bomb attacks. Their trail of destruction claimed almost a hundred lives, including the sacrifice of Hîr Esnathemar en'Brascad, one of the Cyngorgad. His presence and keen selfless action saved many more lives. I'm honored to have called him my friend. His death will be mourned by all Yllendthyr." Radidnahr kept a long pause. The aging elven general will be always remembered by him as a national hero, regardless the circumstances of his death. "Investigations are already underway though our chief suspicion is on Ajdar extremists supported by the Tinite Sultanate. They apparently prepared similar atrocities within their own border and the Sultan recently used this as an excuse to terrorize Zanshir. According to the telegraph this morning they also appear to demand Yllendthyr's colonies on Zanshir. Though my information is still incomplete the evidences paint the Tinite ambitions clear as day."Radidnahr finished his speech. He counted his luck for maintaining the constant flow of information with the mainland. Things are turning out better than expected.

As the Chancellor lead the two leaders inside, she made a comment on the presence of Nahku. The Premier chuckled, and said, "Well, you know what they say about friends and enemies." She nodded with respect at Commander Hoffer when he introduced himself, whom she had long admired as a skilled commander in the art of air warfare. "Thank you," she replied simply to his compliment, as she shook his hand.

Premier Velikaya raised her eyebrows at the openness of the Chancellor as she began speaking, as she was much more muted with her intentions. Despite this slight indication of surprise, she kept her entirely neutral and expressionless face for the rest of the explanation.

When the Elvish prime minister began to speak, Velikaya turned to examine him. Conceited and decadent, but perhaps less so than usual, she concluded. Perhaps there might be hope of reasonableness in the elven empire after all.

The announcement of the bombing strained her facial control, but she managed. She never could have imagined such a wonderful outcome, one which eliminated a Yllendthyr noble and even now was bringing them to the brink of war with the Sultanate. The most sublime pleasure, she thought to herself, was that of a plan coming together perfectly.

When they had finished, the Premier cleared her throat. "The statement that Yllendthyr and Kataylabinsk might not see eye to eye is a considerable understatement, but I do see your point. The new Sultan, Babur, clearly has a tendency for recklessness and irrationality, which in combination with the upheaval in KalMea makes for a very tense continent. Regardless, the People's Republic's position is the same: if you give us a proposal, we will examine it, but we are reluctant to participate in any offensive endeavor." Leaning back, she wondered what the reaction to her reluctance might be.

2:11AM (VMT)

Voltus drummed his finger's on the table as he flicked through some notes he took down a while ago. It was early in the morning and he had decided to call a meeting with the royal council but it seemed that they had other things in mind. The only other living thing in the room with him was his dog, Chien, though calling her alive was a stretch; a better term would be half-alive as she was half metal and half dog. He looked down at his pooch and smiled, scratching her under her muzzle, "You're here for me.." he muttered, "but my lousy children..." He sighed, they couldn't once come to one of his meetings, even though he spares a lot of time to attend theirs. Chien jumped up onto his lap and curled into a big, furry-metallic ball. Voltus leaned back in his leather chair spinning around and around.

He was jerked to a stop suddenly and fortunately because after half an hour of spinning he felt like he was going to pass out, it seemed Chien had. He looked over his shoulder to find a slender, pale hand gripping the chair. It was his wife, smiling tiredly down at him. He smiled back up to her and patted his lap. "priyti dorogoy, sidet ^[1]." she nodded and flowed over to him, gently picking up the half metal dog and depositing it on the floor before sitting on his laps and leaning into his chest. Voltus in his fingers through her hair, "Why are you awake, dear?"

She yawned then, silently opening her mouth and then closing it again, releasing a little purr of satisfaction afterwards, "You... Letter.." she slipped her hand into the front of her robe and pulled out a sealed envelope, literally sealed, wax sealed. Voltus took the letter from her hand gently and leaned down to kiss her palm, to which she reacted with a tired giggle. He inspected the seal and the paper, turning it over and over in his hands until stopped again at the seal. He had seen it before.

Voltus picked up his sleepy wife and got out of the chair, gently replacing her there to snuggle into it's leathery warmth. He walked over to his desk, opposite the conference table and rummaged through the drawers before finding an older, creased piece of paper from his father's time as ruler. He held them out next to each other. The seals matched, once was older and already broken but it matched. "What is it that the Sultan wants?" he mumbled to himself, breaking the seal and pulling out the letter. Voltus plonked himself into his chair and began reading.

It took him a while to read it, his Tin was rusty but he managed to get through it with some understanding (thanks to a translation dictionary), he raised his eyebrow. 'Another visit?' he thought to himself, he already had one planned to Eisenkries. He lowered the letter and looked at where his wife lay, Curled in a chair and fast asleep. He smiled and put the letter down. 'somethings are more important at the moment.' he walked over to his wife and picked her up, she didn't react, breathing gently in her sleep. He held her to him, like a baby and walked to the elevator, her long hair dragging on the floor.



7:43AM (VMT)

"Casting off!"

Voltus heard the yells and orders from the field below as he reclined into his seat, feeling the engines of the zeppelin whir to life and vibrate the cabin ever so gently. It was going to be a hell of a long flight to Saroy. Chien came padding along and sat in the chair opposite him, laying her muzzle down on the armrest and looking out the window, it seemed that even she knew the flight would be long. Voltus pulled his legs up onto the seat and bundled himself underneath a blanket, "Mozhet takzhe pospat... ^[2]" Slowly he drifted to sleep as the zeppelin drifted into the air.

Ring Ring! Ring Ring! Ring Ring!

Voltus, without looking at the phone picked up the receiver and brought it to his ear, too tired to be mad, "Voltus here." It was a group call, apparently his children were willing to have a conference once they were awake and not tired, Voltus sighed. It was going to be a long flight. Though it didn't seem as it would be a bad flight, he felt the seat to his side shift a bit and he looked up, his wife looked down at him with those grey eyes he adored. She took his hand and gave it a gentle squeeze.





One Day Later

Though the call had cut into his sleep Voltus had managed to get a few hours of sleep, however no where near as much as Marie or Chien, who slept for half the flight. Voltus had to wake up earlier and ran the country, he may have been abroad but that didn't mean he was exempt from his duties.

He looked at himself in the full length mirror if the cabin's dressing room, he had bags under his eyes and his hair was in disarray but otherwise he looked prim and proper, his white, winter trench suit closed neatly in front of him and his black trousers ironed and pressed to perfection. He wore no medals, a diplomatic meeting was no place for them, instead he wore his sword by his side, it was traditional to do so and it gave him some comfort knowing he was armed.

His wife snuck up behind him and embraced him from behind, leaning her head around Voltus' arm to see them both in the mirror, she smiled and twiddled the hilt of his sword.

"That looks like coat from wedding." she said, thinking back to the day they were married, in the open courtyard of a northern cathedral. Voltus nodded.

"It is." it was his only winter coat, he only owned three coats, most farmers owned more. Though he did it out of some kind of humbleness, if he was going to sleep in a palace, he was going to cut things out of his life to make up for it. Marie walked around him, followed by Chien and tugged at Voltus' sleeves, straightening them, she picked up a comb form a side table and combed his hair back as he always had it, she smiled at him and got on her tip toes. Voltus instinctually leaned down, knowing what she wanted and pecked her lips before leaving back to look at her. She was wearing a white dress and had her long white locks plated so it dragged behind her like a rope, traditionally, Voltus would have to hold it for her as they walked. He gestured to her elbow, "shall we?"

She took it without hesitation, "We shall." she replied. The pair walked through the innards of the zeppelin until they came to the departure hatch. Voltus stepped out in to the bright sun and Marie after him. A servant handed them a parasol and Voltus nodded his thanks to them, giving them a smile. He popped it open and held it over his wife, her skin was horribly pale and she'd get terrible sunburn if in the harsh light for too long.

1. "Come darling, sit."
2. "Might as well get some sleep..."

Yllendthyr

Katrina Claire walked broadly in the Yllendrian daylight, she had just been through purgatory. It took almost a full day in the clean and pristine customs office for her passport to be verified, but Katrina suspected that somewhere in the mysterious works that is chain of command there was a racist elf using his powers to "protect" his country or maybe it really did take that long regardless She strove into the city.

One of the beauties of this nation of elves is their wondrous buildings that completely marvel the eyes and in The Capital it is no different. There were different styles of buildings present in the city. In downtown lay the most ancient and wizened buildings, there were houses from which were grown from trees and the theme of nature was prevalent. As the years progressed and the town grew to a thriving city more buildings popped up with contemporary designs. One of the true wonders of the world were the sparkling Mithril buildings where sunlight reflect and refracted into colorful iridescent shades of light.

Now Katrina made her way through the busy town and its hustle and bustle of the bio diesel vehicles and found herself in the lobby of a government building where she waited politely to meet the man in charge of international trade.

The news of the bombings confirmed the suspicions Helena had. The Sultan was obviously making his first move in undermining age old rivals and enemies. Perhaps Avalia might be next on the terror attack list of the Tinite leader. This worried Helena further and only motivated her further to push the Senate for a preemptive strike.

However, even more shocking revelations came from the Premier Commissar. Her reluctance, if not, cowardliness shocked Helena. Even Walt raised an eyebrow at the Premier's statement. If anything, Helena was prepared for the Prime Minister to be more reluctant, but never the less, it seemed the opposite. Helena turned the the Premier. "Well, I believe my nation is not going to wait around for the inevitable invasion of my country. I take it the PRK will feel the same when the Tinite pirates start sinking and raiding any ships that head through that straight." Helena said in a firm tone. "I understand the reluctance to take the initiative, but its pretty definitive that war. is. coming. Whether we like it our not, the Tinites and their allies will be knocking on our doors in a couple months. Both of our doors. I only ask that we support each other when that time comes." she said.

"Certainly, you have that," the Premier replied with an effort at warmth. "We would certainly agree to such a defensive agreement, and would not hesitate to honor it. But we are simply cautious of acting too recklessly. From your assessment, do you believe that our three countries have the capacity to defeat such an immense nation, let alone one whose armies are driven to fight by religious devotion to their sovereign and will likely never surrender? Perhaps we could seek to recruit other allies to make our victory more certain. That is all I suggest."

It seemed there was always more mail.

Mulspan gazed with regretful eyes at the pile of letters resting on his mahogany-stone desk, knowing that only a select handful would earn the privilege to be answered. Most originated from homes or homesteads spread across KalMea, concerned citizens trying to contact their leader.
But still, the KalSol insisted on meticulously searching each letter for useful information, or anything that he could use as a valid excuse to respond- he didn't enjoy ignoring the citizenry, however needed it may be.

Although, there were two letters that proved important.

One he recognized immediately- the same fine paper, the same detailed draconic seal, the same revolting spread of human blood spilling ever-so-slightly through the paper. The Sultanate.

The other was more...foreign. Marked with some strange characters and written in a hand he did not recognize. He sincerely thought only for a half-second before curiosity won out- he had to open the unknown message first. Per the usual, he clawed it open with his long nails (as most Kaliabis did). He allowed his eyes devoured the message within, carefully studying each strange sentence, each curve and loop in the letters.
It was from El Presidente, Roman Salavatore of Hambria. Like the Sultan Balbur, he had extended an offer of troops for aid, should KalMea devolve into civil chaos.

Mulspan slammed his fist downwards, shaking the desk beneath him. Did all these leaders think he was so incompetent that his nation would descend into anarchy at the smallest mishap? Had he not the diplomatic skill to do otherwise, he would have simply burned the letter and sent Salavatore the ashes.
But he tried earnestly to be better than that. Instead, he sent a polite letter denying troops, but thanking Roman several times throughout.

Then he turned his attention to the letter whose author he prayed would know a superior sense of diplomacy. Balbur had mentioned sending troops, sure, but he did so in a way that made clear he was hoping it unnecessary.

Mulspan read the Sultan's message with the same devotion as Roman's, if not equal interest. He replied with a curt promise to come, and no mention of previous communications.

Within a day, he was approaching the Land of the Dragon.

Cuidad, Isla Ocena

The room was filled with hazy cigar smoke and lit by a low, dim light that illuminated an escritoire, a very tired man, and four walls. An escritoire is a small desk used for writing, the tired man is the Presidente Roman Salvador, the four walls were a foot of solid steel alloy with small vents. Even though Roman is the President of an entire nation he had to beg and plead his security advisor to allow this desk into this cramped room because she said it "reduced the level of safety." It didn't make sense that the desk was a security concern, so, with all his presidential power moved the small desk into the panic room. But for now it serves as a writing room for the Presidential Memoirs which are slowly coming along. Very slowly. He actually made it three whole pages fluidly before he got interrupted by his Head of International Relations, Raefiel Gidare with a very polite letter from the Kal Sol of KalMea politely refusing the need for troops to quell the terrorists. Roman rubbed his hand through the groomed salt and pepper hair, all he could think was Damn. The Kal Sol very politely refused his offer and generally out maneuvered him diplomatically. Roman's hand hit the table,

"Gidare, how do we fix this, this is a mark of embarrassment on the nation of Hambria." It took Raefiel a moment for his mouth to spit out the best solution he could come up with,

"Sir, Roman, you need to write a letter back, not asking if he needs help. You must respect him as a leader of the his country. Just give him your apologies and you might be able to retreat from this with an amount of dignity." Salvatore looked at Raefiel with daggers for eyes, but instead he very grudgingly replied,

"Whatever helps save face Gidare, you're dismissed." The minister disappeared leaving the President of Hambria to push away his memoirs and beginning to write his short letter of apologies.

KalMea

Kal Sol Mulspan,

I am sincerely sorry and I hope I didn't cause offense to your proud nation. I was merely trying to expand a bridge between our two people and explore the options of our countries working together. To rectify my mistake I would like to invite you to our annual Independence Gala in Ciudad, as well as our more personal family dinner as a guest of honor.

Sincerely,

Roman Salvatore

Roman looked at the letter once more, proof reading it and hoping that this didn't come off as weak to the opposing country. He poured his whiskey and stared into bottom of the amber drink.

Thousands of miles north was Katrina Claire, in the land of the Elves and the eternally long waiting periods. After spending nearly a day in the Customs office she had been waiting for several hours in a government building, waiting on a nameless minister.

Babur leafed through the three papers in his hand, having already been told of their contents. There were three letters for three nations; the KalSol and Tsar would be coming in person to meet with him, great honors indeed. Dong Wei too would attend the talks, though their president had cited other obligations and chosen to send some delegate instead to represent his nation's interests. The Sultan scoffed at the thought of Dong Wei's president; that was a backwards land indeed.

Centuries had passed while the Kingdom of Man Hu and the Sultanate had supported one another and had lucrative trade, but in these past decades the Kingdom had collapsed and its bastard child, the Republic of Dong Wei, had been born. This sorry state of affairs was doubtlessly a punishment from the Celestial Above as punishment for Man Hu's ignorance of the truth; despite years of missionary efforts by the Ajdar (many of which were ongoing), the religion hadn't taken root and the modern state of Dong Wei only had perhaps a million Ajdars. In the any case, though Dong Wei had kept to the precedent of their former kingdom and maintained the same economic and military ties with Tin, relations had been strained.

It was a most perturbing trend to Babur and indeed all of the Caliphate's aristocracy to see ancient and righteous monarchies fall; in recent years the Kataylan Imperium had similarly disappointed by collapsing into a degenerate, bastard state, though they had of course fallen much farther with their backwards thinking of society. Still, the various democracies and republics were a blight upon the land, finally outnumbering the traditional monarchies. Dragon permitting, that would soon change, but in the meantime Babur would be careful to support the Tsar of Ventium. Though they were not eye to eye on many things and had never been especially close, it would be a heinous crime to simply allow the idea of popular sovereignty to corrupt yet another land, gaining legitimacy and an ever greater chance of spreading its evil infectiousness to Tin's masses.

All that being said, while the nearby infidel lands were to be watched and talk of them would no doubt arise in the upcoming meeting, that was not the most pressing issue. The Zanjir Archipelago and the elven empire's seeming insistence on war would be the looming topic of the talks, and so that was what Babur continued to think about. Time and time again he had sat for hours thinking about the possible courses of action, discussing it with any servant or adviser that was listen (of course, none dared to not listen to the Caliph of the Dragon) and tossing about in his bed throughout the nights unable to sleep while he thought about the islands. In the end, however, he had seen his foolishness.

It was a sobering reminder that even a Caliph of the Dragon could have weakness in his heart; his mind had been plagued by how many good soldiers would fall and how many innocent elves would die in such a conquest, but such thoughts were traitorous, heretical, and cowardly. In the palace gardens he had sat with only a candle for light and companionship, suffering the cold and dark desert night while he read the Ajdar texts for what must have been the hundredth time in his life. With each passage he found determination, strength, and bravery in the face of what was to come: the old scriptures were clear: the faithful who died to spread the Faith died worthy and honorable deaths indeed, and would ascend to the heavens to be ever closer to the almighty Firedrake. The elves who died as heathens were not innocents. In fact, they were not people at all, for the truth had been in their faces as clear as the war that slaughtered them or the burning sun over Tin's sandy wastes, and yet they had still chosen to deny it vehemently so as to only damn their own souls in a petulant attempt to spite the Dragon. The Dragon was power, strength, truth, and all that there was: his way was the only way, and his way was to spread the Ajdar everywhere, whether through words, blades, or bombs.

The young Sultan knew what he needed to do: war with the elves was inevitable, he only needed to convince other sovereigns to support him and the effort. If their aid did not come militarily then perhaps they could at aid in the effort diplomatically by recognizing Tin's claims, for the world needed to know that this was indeed a just and righteous war. Lies spread easily and enemies hid everywhere in the shadows; Tin could not afford to lose the support of its noble partners. The only question was exactly how he would go about garnering this support. He had asked that his High Minister of Diplomacy, Tolon Bey, aid him with the negotiations. While the Bey had a questionable background and reputation, his silver tongue was famous from the small town that was his ancestral fief to the peaks of the great Narida Mountains to the west.



After folding and turning the papers in his hands for an hour while he was lost in thought, Babur's musings were suddenly interrupted by the incessant ringing of a bell. The bull tower was only used to announce the death of a Sultan or sound the alarm in case of an attack. Bewildered, the Sultan jumped to his feet and moved to leave his office to find out what chaos had erupted. Before he could even reach it, his door was shook by a panicked knocking. Mere feet from the door, he called out, "Come i-"

Before he even finished, one of the palace guards burst into the room, the door almost swinging into Babur's face. "Great Caliph," he panted, "your brothers escaped from the tower that they were incarcerated within. After we found the guards dead, we immediately sounded the alarm. Even now, the palace guards sweep across the palace grounds while the city garrison closes all the ports. Firedrake permitting, we shall find them!"



Their poorly planned escape having failed miserably, the three Mirzas and their cohorts had been found cowering in the bushes of the royal gardens. They hadn't so much as made it over the walls before the alarm was sounded and any hope of escape made long gone. Now, they all had their hands bound behind their backs, and (forcefully, in some cases) were put on their knees before Babur. With looks of mixed hatred and despondence, they awaited their inevitable fate.

Babur could hardly even bear to look them in the eyes. He had ignored all precedent by refusing to kill them as his advisers suggested and tradition dictated. Instead, he had merely confined them out of concern for his own safety more than any punishment on them. Even saying that he had imprisoned them was somewhat absurd; they had been provided with drink and feast, permitted guests from outside, and 'imprisoned' within the most luxurious towers of the palace grounds, their chambers even more lavish than those that they had possessed before. Many would have begged or even bled for the right to be 'held prisoner' in such conditions.

Yet they had betrayed his trust and his authority once more. In his heart he knew that it was not even their confinement that they had objected to, but rather his rule. Their lust for power and their envy and hatred towards him was so great that they had decided to escape and attempt rebellion, murdering their brother and Caliph to usurp the throne. That, or perhaps they sought vengeance for Dhiyal's death. Such evil brought Babur to tears, though they did not flow. Like everything else he kept them pent up inside, allowing his eyes to water until he could scarcely see, yet refusing to let a single drop slide down his face. He could not be weak.

First he looked at those who had enacted the plot and tried to free them. They were a sorry lot, consisting of traitorous nobles and corrupt guardsmen that had been bribed. They were vile and not of his own kin, so sentencing them to die was easy enough. They were dragged out to a secluded place where they would be given a traditional form of execution: the Firedrake's Justice. It was a tortuous and drawn out death that involved being tied to posts and scourged, impaled by spears, and finally burned alive. The whip symbolized the Dragon's tail, the spears its teeth, and the fire its sacred breath. Their agony would be their atonement; their burning would be their cleansing and salvation.

Looking his brothers in the face and ordering them to be put to death was another story. It was wrong, but there was no other way. He would be weak and foolish to spare them twice. Choking as he struggled to even speak, the Sultan had managed to croak out orders for them all to be strangled. He stood there frozen, his manner resembling a statue of cold stone as he suffered all of their spittle and insults. One of them, a man that Babur did not recognize, spoke out, "Exalted Sultan, I beg your mercy that I might serve you and the Dragon for years to come!"

Babur turned to look at that man, his eyes cold. He did not recognize that one, but then again, his father had left behind many bastards and there were several that Babur had never so much as spoken to. They were all the same, and they were all assembled here. "You will share the fate of the rest of them," the Sultan answered that one.

While the one that had pleaded for mercy went silent and seemed to accept his fate, the rest did not care so much for dignity. Spittle and swears flew from their mouths and washed over Babur, but he was as quiet and emotionless as a statue. Quickly, their hatred turned to cowardice and their true colors were shown as they began to beg for mercy and forgiveness.

In the name of mercy he had servants bring in jugs of wine, though many already reeked of alcohol. Once he might have resented their cowardice for drinking in order to find the bravery to try escaping, but now he felt only pity and remorse. Ironically it was their malice and faults that made them seem all the more human. They would be allowed to indulge one last time and drink themselves to oblivion. It would lessen their pain and ease Babur's conscience.

Once more the strange one stood out. He refused the wine, asking to face death with a clear mind. It struck a chord with Babur, who asked, "And who are you, stoic one, that I have never met?"

Already having been forced to his knees like the rest of them, the young man (he couldn't have been more than sixteen) still lowered his head in respect. "Exalted Caliph, I am your cousin Baiju Elbek. We have not met as my years have been spent training with the Janissaries and I was only just stationed here as a guard, though your men imprisoned me when they took the others. I took no part in any plots; with an open heart I declare my innocence and plead for mercy once more."

Babur did not need to ask to verify this Elbek's story, for in every word from the boy's mouth there rang out resounding truth and intelligence, loyalty and honor. If such a man would stab Babur in the back, then the Sultan would gladly ascend to the Dragon for a world with such treachery and deceit would not be one worth living in. "Honorable one, I beg for your forgiveness," the Sultan answered Elbek to the disbelief of all. It was unheard of for a Sultan to ask forgiveness; they were always seen as indomitable and flawless, with not even a possibility of ever being wrong. "Release him at once, men."

Elbek moved towards Babur's side, an incredibly bold move. The Sultan permitted it. The two watched as the others were choked and fell to the ground, one by one. Elbek too had water in his eyes, but like his elder cousin the tears did not fall.

Hasan suddenly entered the room, taken aback by the scene before him. Perhaps not even he had expected such a merciless reaction. Nontheless, he did not dwell on it for more than a moment before stating, "Their arrival is imminent: the Tsar, the KalSol, and Dong Wei's representative are nearly here. They should all arrive within the hour. The palace is secure once more, and all is prepared."

"I will meditate and pray in solitude on this day, and receive none of them," the Caliph replied adamantly. "Though we must not insult them. See to it that they are treated well."



When the Tsar's own airship neared Tin's great capital, it would quickly become obvious to any that were unaware that this was perhaps the world's most heavily fortified city. Babur's father, Sultan Tartu, was many things though a fool was not one of them. Growing paranoia about Avalia's rapidly improving air force had led to the rather wise decision to safeguard most major cities of the Sultanate, beginning with this one. The entire island was militarized. Several small fleets of frigates patrolled the waters while the seawalls and beaches had numerous flak cannons of massive proportions. On the far less urbanized section of the island that was dominated by the royal palace and its grounds, there was a massive complex that was obviously a barracks. Indeed, it housed tens of thousands of soldiers and was the headquarters of Tin's infamous Temple Guard.

For all of those defenses, though, one thing was woefully lacking and that was an air presence of any sort. While the Tinites had developed effective weaponry to take aircraft and mass produced and rigorously tested their anti-air cannons, they had no air force of their own. This was made painfully obvious by the city's lack of a large airport, runway, or anything of the sort. Fortunately, there was a small airdock located within a clearing on the royal grounds. The Tsar's airship was almost too big to land there, the tiny thing being built for smaller civilian aircraft, the type in which more and more foreign diplomats seemed to prefer as transportation in this age. Landing within the palace grounds also had the benefit of allowing one to avoid the bustling city outside, and with it all the crowds of sometimes openly hostile Tinites. The middle and lower classes were often open in the distrust, if not outright disdain, for any sort of infidel foreigners.

In any case, once Voltus and his wife stepped out into the blinding light it would be like an inferno. Wearing his coat might have been a mistake, for Tin's sun beat down upon high lords and their ladies just as it did upon the merchants and their camels, equal in in its merciless fever. While this was rather cool by a Tinite's standards on account of being a shady garden upon an island as compared to a great steppe or desert, it was still most likely warmer than Ventium's hottest summer days, being more comparable to the heat of an oven or a hearth than any weather that they would be used to. What the locals might call a sweet and refreshing ocean breeze would more likely be felt by the Ventians as something like a muggy and humid swamp air that only added to the oppressive heat.

Fortunately, they had landed only a minute or two away from the palace. A host of Temple Guards, garbed in robes and masks even in this weather, were waiting as an escort. With them were translators, diplomats, and nobles, though they would be spared from a long and formal welcoming until they reached the comfort and cool air of the palace. To get carry them the short walk to the palace was a choice of a luxury carriage, horses, or a camel. The Tinites dared not even mention the possibility of going by foot, for such a suggestion would be seen as an insult to any noble in Tin's equestrian culture. Not even the lowliest merchants went on foot, after all.

The short path to the palace was one of beauty, a windy little dirt path through the royal gardens. The orchards, hedges, and bushes had been attempted by dozens of gardeners and for centuries. Off in the distance, the small streams and pools of the water gardens could be seen. There, the children of servants and aristocrats alike splashed through the waters and played.

At the end of the path were a few fountains and a great statue of some ancient Sultan, and then there was an enormous doorway that led into the palatial complex. The palace was four stories tall in parts and had thousands of rooms, having literally cost a hundred fortunes and centuries of labor to build. It was the jewel of Saroy City, which was itself the jewel of the Sultanate, which the Tinites no doubt thought of as the jewel of the entire world. 'Twas many a poet's dream and inspiration!



While both Dong Wei's delegate and the KalSol came by boat, the foreigner from Dong Wei was escorted to the palace quickly and without commotion. No crowd had amassed to see him, for he was just another ambassador, after all. The KalSol was another matter. The Kallabis were strange, their equally strange customs, lands, and religion had long been of great interest to Tin, and hardly any had ever seen a KalSol in person. As a result, throngs of people filled the main avenue from the largest dock all the way to the palace grounds. It was easy to predict that the KalSol would be taken along that path, for it was both the most direct and the grandest and most impressive way through the city.

Mulspan Kilb would be offered a luxury, armored car, in fact it was the very same one that had been offered to Babur upon his first arrival to the capital as ruling Sultan. If he refused it, there would be other accommodations, but in any case a small fleet of vehicles and army of soldiers were there to clear the way and ensure his safety.

Saroy City, on account of being a densely populated island and the most developed city in the Sultanate, had its streets filled with pedestrians and automobiles whereas the roads in most other cities shook beneath the hooves of horses and the like. But now there were no civilian cars on the main avenue, though there were hordes of onlookers at the sides. Immediately Mulspan and any in his entourage would see that the crowds were segregated: one smaller street leading to the dockyards lead to a small community of Kallabis. Clustered near that street was a crowd of Kallbis looking on to see KalMea's leader pass by, while the other side was filled with a veritable mob of Tinites.

There were hundreds of Tinites and their looks varied from the rare friendliness to curiosity and occasionally hostility or disgust. All were silent though, due to the presence of so many soldiers there as escorts. The scene was further made strange by how the Kallabis had segregated themselves further: there were two groups. One, mostly migrant workers and foreign experts working in the city temporarily, would look normal and familiar to any hailing from KalMea. Many of them waved and cheered as Mulspan passed by. The second crowd distanced themselves from those Kallabis and only stared in much the same way as the Tinites. These people wore strange robes and nearly all had made sure to wear chains around their neck, each with a pendant that bore the likeness of the Dragon. These Kallabis had been thoroughly assimilated.

In any case, the first half of the journey was uneventful. Grand buildings, storefronts and mansions alike, were passed as they went down the road. There were also countless small fountains, parks, statues, and monuments to celebrate Tin's glory. The crowd began to grow sparser as they went further down the avenue, until there was a small turn that concealed another small mob. As the KalSol came up on them, one or two hands suddenly pointed to a nearby monument, before there was suddenly an uproar of laughter and a dozen more hands joined them.

If Mulspan followed their point he would see a magnificent monument that seemed to loom over the street, far larger than any of the other statues. Though it was old, it was certainly not vague like many of Tin's other monuments; any Kallab that had opened a history book would instantly recognize its meaning. Though the statue was somewhat weathered and old, clearly not maintained like the others, it was still recognizable as Mighty Timur: Great Warlord, Holy Crusader, Conqueror of Infidels and Scourge of Kal. The stone warlord had a proud and glorified stature, armored and mounted atop a fine horse. In one hand he held a scepter with the Dragon on top, in the other hand he held a great sabre. There were also things beneath his horse's feet, and while some had weathered to be something like lumps of stone, a few were still detailed enough to be recognizable for what they were: the likeness of mangled and broken corpses of Kallab warriors and priests.

Enraged at this sour turn of events and certain that he would be punished for this insult, not having foreseen and stopped it, the officer that led the escort of soldiers barked several orders. Two dozen Temple Guards quickly broke off from the contingent of soldiers and moved towards the crowd, though there were still plenty more. The escorts and Mulspan quickly rounded another corner which pulled them out of sight before they could see what came next, though leaving it to one's imagination was perhaps worse than seeing the real thing.



When at last the KalSol, Tsar, and Dong Wei's Delegate had arrived, they would be found chambers that were absurdly lavish, likely at least as extravagant as their own, if not more. The palace complex was massive, almost a city in its own right as it had existed for centuries and been gradually expanded throughout that entire time. Everywhere in its splendid and wide halls were servants and nobles, soldiers and artists. Only master builders and architects had been permitted to design and hew the walls and countless decorations, and the Sultans were renowned for their patronage of the arts as was exemplified by the countless masterpiece murals and statues that ornamented the walls.

While Babur was unwilling to receive them until the next day, the three leaders would not be left to their own devices or boredom for a second unless they asked as much. They were offered tours through the palace, glimpses at rare collections of everything from art to ancient weaponry, a chance to look for game in the Sultan's own hunting grounds, to swim in the water gardens, to hear performances from Tin's finest musicians, to have a play of their choice arranged just for them... The servants would bombard them all with an almost disgustingly overwhelming amount of hospitality that no words could do justice.

Then, at noon the next day, they would be led to a quaint room in the heart of the palace to meet with Babur.

Upon stepping down the mobile stairs that lead from the boarding hatch to the ground, Voltus found himself thronged by a growing mass of staff, nobles and their entourage. They all wore robes and gowns of splendid silks, oven it them gold thread and bejeweled around cuffs and collars. Voltus felt slightly sick, he wasn't sure why they would waste so much on such expensive clothes, when a simple coat would so. As they took the steps down, Voltus wrapped his wife's long plaits loosely around his arm, carrying it like a servant would carry a towel over one arm. Voltus leaned down to his wife, adjusting the parasol.

"Muzhchiny zdes', gde bol'she yuvelirnyye izdeliya, to vy." he quipped, making her let out a giggle. Once at the bottom, Voltus was thankful to see his own royal guard spill out of a service hatch on the lower levels of the zeppelin, he spotted their flashing white trench coats and glinting silvered guns from the corner of his eye. There were Twenty-Six of them in total, each one brandishing a glinting submachine guns and wearing elektrum steel plates under their flapping coats. These men were hand picked by Voltus, taken fromm the best of the best graduates, from the best military academies from across the nation. Though there were more then Twenty-Six on board the ship, they were auxiliary, they guarded the ship incase a hasty take off were needed or would rush out if added men were required.

With them, Voltus spotted the the looming form of his mechanical steed, being walked towards the royal pair, Chien padding along briskly, her metal parts glinting from their recent polish. The nobles seemed a bit flustered to see so many guards anreven the temple guard seemed to stand to attention more, Voltus merely smiled. His guard stopped suddenly and saluted their sovereign before one of them detached and walked the horse over to them, handing the reins to his Tsar and returning to the line with a nod of gratitude from Voltus.

Voltus spotted the transportation that was waiting for them there, a gilded carriage, a host of white steeds, a heavily decorated camel; none caught his fancy. He preferred to ride his mech-horse but concerned for his wife and the heat, he decided to have her ride it. The Tsar picked up Marie, much to her delight and deposited her on the worn leather saddle of the horse, she deftly slipped her her feet into the stirrups and took the reigns with a practiced grip. The royal guard formed two ranks around them, two columns of thirteen men and women on either side, standing in pairs apart from the commanders in front, leading their group. Voltus handed the parasol up to the Tsarina and she took it with no objection, holding it over her shoulder and shielding herself from the sun; Voltus shifted his wife's loosely coiled hair up to his shoulder, making sure she wasn't being tugged before he started talking. He heard an audible gasp come from the congregation of nobles, it seemed that a king walking was a foreign idea to them.

As the column marched, a spindly robbed man with thick circular glasses scurried in-between the two guard groups, warranting stares and hands poised on the safety switches. The royal guard were extremely loyal and extremely protective. The bespectacled bowed deeply and walked backwards, Voltus was impressed, that must have been hard to do.

"Your Majesty," he uttered, not making eye contact, "Would you not find it more to your liking on a carriage?" clearly he was panicked, as if Voltus was suppose to be in the carriage, Voltus shook his head.

"Your Ventian is good," said Voltus casually, dabbing at his sweaty forehead with a handkerchief, "Where did you study?"

"Universitet Verveaux, Kollazh yazyka^[1]," Replied the man hastily as nobles started giving him angry looks, "bu-" Voltus cut him off.

"What did you major in, Mr...?" Voltus dragged out the sentence, hoping for a name to find itself attached to it when the bespectacled man spoke.

"Kheshin, Prose." the bespectacled man had given up and started to leave the column, looking down as he approached the seating nobles, Voltus smiled at him.

"I'm not done speaking with you, Mr Kheshin." called out Voltus, making the man stop in his tracks and turn around, "Come, tell me a little about yourself." With obvious relief, Kheshin returned, much to the disdain of the nobles. The pair spent the rest of the walk talking amongst one another, Voltus learned that scholarships were few and far between in Tin, explaining how the man knew how to speak Ventian so well; most were too poor to send their children aboard and nobles didn't consider a formal eduction important, leaving only a few to be sent abroad on government money to learn and return. As they came up to the door Voltus shook the man's hand firmly, "It was a pleasure, I hope to see you at the meeting." Voltus gave the man a small bow, making him jump in his place, "until then." Voltus entered through the doors he was lead to, leaving Kheshin to be thronged by the mass of nobles, all hoping to get on his good side after seeing him being friendly with a King.



Voltus felt the need to vomit.

The room was heavily comfortable, with heavy, substantial furniture, it made him sick - Physically so. He swayed violently and had to grab onto his wife to stay up, despite her small frame she hefted him up with ease.

"What the fuck are these people doing..?" he mumbled to himself, looking over the room again there was a chandelier bigger then that in his ballroom dangling in the center, above a large circular bath, he sniffed the air, "Is that bath filled wit rose water?!" His wife took a sniff of the air and nodded. Voltus detached himself from his wife and wandered over to the bed, it was silk, his bedsheets were linen, the pillows were full of fox tails, his were full of goose down. "I think I'll be sleeping on the floor.." he mumbled.

The arrival of Emperor Sho was announced by the opening of the heavy wooden door of the Imperial Court. Once inside, the hundreds of politicians, military officers, bureaucrats, nobles and reporters filled the chamber, all looking down from their tiered areas. Most people would probably suddenly suffer a lack of never to do anything but stutter and trip in the presence of so many important people, but Sho long got over his fear of public speaking and having so many eyes on him as he had grown up in the company of many of these men and women, some of which he knew personally. Instead of feeling the glares of a thousand people, he saw the gaze of a thousand friends and family as he took his seat in the throne located at the center against the wall.

"All bow before his grace, Emperor Shitatsu Sho!" the court guard in full traditional armor boomed from the center of the Imperial Court.
"We give praise to you and wish a thousand years of honor upon our lord which we swear to serve most dutifully and diligently. Please accept our humble bows that we present before you, our righteous Emperor Shitatsu Sho.", the hundreds of voices shook the foundations of the building to its very core as everyone once more took their seats after the Emperor waved a hand.

"People of my glorious domain," the Emperor's voice resounded throughout the chamber, "We have convened here once again to discuss the course of our great Empire. As our first order of business, I would like to elect Mastude Shiahara-dono to speak to us about our current situation within our colonies. Shiahara-san, as you wish."

"Thank you my lord," Shiahara stood up, his hair pulled back to his hairline as it spiked out at the end, his eyes covered by a small pair of circular spectacles, "All is well in the colonies, money and materials are been sent per status quo and our conversation of the local populace if proving to be fruitful. As per your orders, we have increased defenses in both the southern Ryukyu Island and the northern Fujishi colony. Scouts are active around the clock on the look out for any hostile intent by both Tiqsimuyu and Yllendthyr. Two platoons have been moblized and divided between the two with the 1st and the 8th Fleets supporting them. There are reports however that Elven refugees are crossing the border in Fujishi, your orders?"

"I will leave the final response to my sister, Habari-dono, thank you for your report Shiahara-dono." The Emperor pushed some papers around and picked up a new sheet about the recruitment in the military as well as new weapons, "Arisaka Tajima. Please stand and deliver your report."

"Yes sir!" the Minister of Military stood a rapt attention, his back straight as a board as he delivered his report with the voice known to shatter mountains, "We have raised two new armies to serve you your highness. We have also finished the consturction of the Anikaga-Class battleship, Ooichiro, and the Namashiro-Class Aircraft Carrier, Hoki. They will become the basis of the new 14th Fleet with the battleship Nakima, the Aircraft Carriers Jistu, Danbari, and the cruisers Amatsu, Kyojin and Ryuzo soon joining them. Upon completion, we will transfer some destroyers from the 7th Fleet to support them."

"Very well, I see that our naval power is becoming more relevant." the Emperor was glad that the navy was growing stronger, he had put a new package of money to the shipyards in order to raise the new, modern 14th fleet, "What about these new weapons you are proposing?"

"As you know, some months ago we have began testing the Type 5 Experimental Rifle. We have now concluded that it is ready to be shipped out after working out some minor flaws in the rifling and feed system as the Type SM-5 Rifle. Troops will soon be armed with it but the Type 99 will still be in service with the Ashigarus and snipers. Also we have made significant progress towards chambering the Type 50 heavy SMG for rifle rounds but are unable to find suitable ways to reduce recoil for automatic fire. Fear not however as I have assigned our best men to the R&D laboratory in Kitsu."

"Very well, may Amaburi be with you." the Emperor watched as a Tajima sat down as he pulled out another file labelled "Diplomacy report."

Silence broken only by silent mutters and the shuffling of papers and scratches of pens filled the room as his highness thumbed through the file. The newer members of the Court were clearly uneasy as they fidgeted in their seats especially the rookies in the foreign affairs department, hoping that they wouldn't be dishonorably called out for a mistake they made.

With gentle hands, Emperor Sho closed the folder and turned to a certain Ms. Arita Kayuma, head of the rising FA ministry, "Kayuma-dono, I have read your department's report and have found every useful and informative. How goes the diplomats we have sent to the other nations?"

Dressed in modern business wear, Kayuma brushed away her hair and cleared her throats, "Your honor, we have yet to receive word from our brave men and women in foreign soil but are expecting them to do well." A small spontaneous chatter arose around her as she leaned down so someone could whisper in her ear, "Also, no disrespect your honor, what will you do about the three-way meeting in the land of Tin?"

A grin cracked on to the young ruler's face as he called for a mysterious figure, "Hattori."

"You called your highness?", a man dressed in black robes and armor with only his eyes showing between his face mask and his headband suddenly appeared from seemingly nowhere, surprising everyone in the court and baffling the guards who were now scanning the chamber from ceiling to floor, "What is your bidding?"

"I am giving you permission to activate the JSIOF. Ensure that we shadow our "friends" as they have their meetings. It might be a perfect tinderbox for our plans." the Emperor's widening grin further unsettled the rookies and even some veterans, the experienced ones how stood steadfast, "I assume you know what to do from here."

"Yes you highness." Hattori bowed, "The shadows listen to your will."

And with that, he disappeared in plain sight, puzzling everyone once more as the guards angrily shook their fists at where he was once standing. Sho knew that activating the JSOIF would be direct dishonor on his part, but everyone in the room had a certain level of knowledge on why.

The Emperor needed a spark to strike the tinderbox, who else to call on for this sinful business besides the JSOIF.