And The World Shall Whisper His Name

[Allegian Republic]

Hæstur Palace, Residence of The Scepter
Hæstur, Capital of The Supreme & Sovereign Drakun Imperium
Monday Morning - 24 Hours Before Scepter Gabriel's Speech to The World

Meticulous. The word summed up preparations for the first major televised speech to the international community that Scepter Gabriel Abeloth would deliver. Sure, previous Scepter had given major addresses… the only problem was no one had bothered to even tune in. In fact, a study had showed television ratings had been higher for an infomercial highlighting a discontinued product promising to put an end to the dust bunnies than the speeches of the Scepters. That was changing, and the firm, cold hand of Gabriel, had guided that change into a new reality. From a balcony above Gabriel watched with a grim smile down at the rising stages and television screens amidst the falling snow. Barely an hour from now rehearsals would begin; the careful stage choreography would be practiced over and over again until it was drilled into every square inch of brains involved in the event.

His eyes narrowed as he glimpsed several individuals slacking off in the final stages of the stage’s construction. He would find out their names, and positions then bring on a suitable punishment. There was no time or tolerance for laziness; these men were building the foundation of The Imperium’s reputation in the international community not the scenery for a high school play. His hands, covered by black gloves gripped the balcony’s edges ever more slightly. He swore a small oath to correct those seemingly insignificant laborers’ misbehavior, “If they do not possess the capability to understand the magnitude of their undertaking, I will impress upon them the consequences of ignorance.”

Gabriel’s penchant for rigorous, sometimes brutal enforcement of discipline was legendary. It was what spawned rumor’s from hidden dictatorial ambitions, to a scarred childhood, which could be the only cause for such brutality. Yet these rumors also gave birth to the loyalty of his supporters, the reluctant obedience of his enemies, and the acknowledgment he was no one to be taken lightly or ignored by his rivals – and there were plenty of those who had yet to be marginalized.

“Your Excellence, if I may have a moment of your time?” Called one his secretaries from behind him, a slight shiver in her voice. Gabriel could not tell if it was from fear, or the frigid temperature out here on the balcony.

He didn’t give an answer. She was below him, and not worth a word more than what was necessary. She knew this though; this was how Drakunian society worked. His lack of dismissal signaled that she could disturb his solitude, “The Foreign Executor… he recommends that the seating for foreign dignitaries, media outlets and corporate interests be moved closer to the stage. He fears that their distance from the stage could alienate potential allies.”

His fingers danced along the railing, free from the tight grip his hand had called of them. Gabriel chuckled slightly at the amusing complaint, “So the Executor would have me place foreigners closer to the stage? Closer than my fellow Drakunians? He would undermine centuries of history and facts and imply that these foreigners are of more worth than even the lowest member of our society who found their way in somehow to attend such a historical address?”

“I sought to explain that line of thinking to him Your Excellence –“

“It is the only line of thinking my dear. We act out of the truth, while the world acts out of delusions and foolish dreams. That is what has separated us, and always will from the filth.”

“I understand Excellency.”

“So no, their seating will not be moved. They will be kept at the very back, and in front of no Drakunian citizen, regardless of their family allegiance. Am I clear?”
“As always. Will that be all?”

“Yes…” His eyes fell darted once more towards the final set up, “Actually no. Come here.” Gabriel waved the nameless secretary to his side and pointed down at the fools who, unaware their Scepter was watching, had taken a break and enjoyed a moment of their time lollygagging instead of building his stage. “You see those men down there? Bring them up to the balcony will you.”

Although puzzled she didn’t question the will of her superior.

“My dear, how far down of a drop do you think it is from this balcony?”

Confusion seeping into her voice she didn’t dare a false answer, “I wouldn’t waste your time with a guess sir. I do not know. Only that it is quite a steep drop.”

Gabriel’s smile flashed a hint of pleasure at that answer, although she could not see, “That will suffice. Thank you.” The scepter cracked his knuckles in sadistic anticipation.

 

[Radilo]

Nouveau Port

Foreign Ministry

Two men walked beside each other down one of the corridors in the Foreign Office. One of the men was a short, moderately cubby, white man and the other a tall, thin, black man. The former was Radilan Foreign Minister James “Jimmé” Rouchambeau, and the latter was one of his under-secretaries François Mbebe.

“So where are you sending me this time Monsieur Minister?”

“A quaint little nation up north, Solaren.”

“Sounds like a time-and-a-half. Are they a dry country?”

“To be honest, François, I don’t know. Why, do you intend to run up a tab?”

“Well of course, I intend to indulge in the finest liquor, so long as it is on the Ministry’s tab.”

“Well you’ll find out, won’t you.”

“Indeed, Jimmé.”

“Just do what you do best, schmooze them up and get us some good trade agreements. Now if you will excuse me I have to go yell at the Belmontian Ambassador.”

“See you in a few weeks.”

Mbebe was the one usually assigned to the unpleasant task of representing the Third Republic to former hermit states that are just beginning to peak out of their shells. He was particularly good at what he did. He was very sensitive, at least publicly, of the various odd traditions that these nations had, and would observe them as best any outsider could. His objective was to secure a new market for Radilan trade goods, liquor, cars, etcetera. He also had to find a suitable building to purchase for an embassy, and the other mundane tasks associated with international diplomacy.

He very rarely dealt with heads of state; those pompous bastards most often only would talk to their own king. He, rather, talked and mingled with the high level bureaucrats who actually ran the day to day operations of the state. He would go to this press conference and play footsie with this tin-pot dictator, but afterwards he would go to the usual social events for his counterparts, where he would actually be getting work done.

 

[Mergogne]

Hæstur Palace, Residence of The Scepter
Hæstur, Capital of The Supreme & Sovereign Drakun Imperium

USSK Special Envoy Innokentiy Paveladze had absolutely no idea what he was doing at the foreign policy debut of some political debutant in an upstart Northwestern backwater state. He had lived through the administration of the Kryobaijani Communist Party. He had seen propaganda, grandstanding, posturing, and nationalistic deceit that would put any two-bit regime to shame. Paveladze didn't think he had any reason to expect anything different this time. And he was especially frustrated by his hosts' rudeness in terms of seating arrangements. He could hardly see over the unwashed yokels who populated the growing audience. At the very least, he could appreciate the surrounding architecture. He stared off into the distance, away from the crowds. The city's skyline was fairly impressive.

It looked so......

... urban.

It unsettled him. If these hooligans ever got their act together, they could cause some damage...

He didn't really want to be there. But he would still watch, and act as the eyes and ears of the Intersectionalist government. Despite the bombast and delusions of grandeur of the now defunct Kryobaijani Communist Party, Paveladze had to admit that they did have some fantastic spectacles, from executions to political rallies. And it looked like something fantastic was about to happen at Hæstur Palace...

 

[Allegian Republic]

The hour of fate had arrived. The much-hyped speech of Scepter Gabriel to the Drakun, and the world was set to begin in minutes. Hundreds of thousands, some against their will had poured into the large field outside Hæstur Palace. Extravagant white tents illuminated by blue lights had been erected to give off a stadium feel. Some would say such elaborate designs would take slave labor to complete so fast… they would have been right; although many had done so willingly at the chance of gaining favor with the Abeloth Family and the benefits that brought to one’s own household.

The temperature, a nice 20 degrees Fahrenheit with wind-chill was hardly the ideal temperate to give a rousing outdoor address. Even though Drakunians endured harsh temperatures, it did not endow them with superhuman abilities. It was blistering cold, regardless of how warmly they dressed. Causalities were actually expected amongst the elder in the crowd. Gabriel Abeloth, Scepter of Drakun though would deliver his stirring speech without a coat or anything other than a typical sharp business suit. Although no one would know under it laid several thermal layers to keep him warm enough to function. It was part of the image the Imperium would project today. Perception mattered, Gabriel knew that and he would use to his advantage relentlessly.

The Scepter stared silently at the huddled masses before him through a glass window within the palace. His hands clasped firmly behind his back, he inspected the stage before him. The titantrons hastily brought in from the nearby sports arena, and barely secured if safe at all… something the foreign media would be unaware of. The entire capital had been turned upside down; nothing was sacrosanct. Everything could be confiscated in the name of creating the image of a strong, downright terrifying Imperium. Although announced in the media only yesterday, planning had been underway for months and the execution had been choreographed countless times in practice sessions.

An attendant came behind the Scepter, her presence announced by the clacking of her boots. It was time. He pushed open the glass door and emerged onto the stage. A thousand lights flashed, as his face was pasted on every television screen in the makeshift arena, the Imperium and hopefully the world. He raised his hands, and waved a triumphant grin on his face. He came to the podium, and grabbed its sides and roared, “Drakun! Our accession is at hand.”

His baritone voice boomed across the open field where the masses stared in wonderment, amplified by the most advanced audio systems Gabriel could get his hands on. It created the effect of his voice seemingly everywhere, rumbling like a tyrannical thunderstorm weighing on the night sky. “ We are, united as one living nation, are on the precipice of grabbing the reigns of destiny and steering our own path; free of celestial meddling. The world beyond our seas knows this; it is a secret that they burden with tragic acknowledgment. There is nothing they can do except scheme, knives in hand, their way to a place besides our throne. For proof look only behind you!”

Gabriel gestured powerfully with both his hands, “They sit, representatives of Europe in absolute awe, in fear of what is before their very eyes. They do not sit at my feet, nor at yours. They are behind us, as they always will be so long as we seize this moment, hold it and forge the lines of our future today.”

“My words today serve not just as a call to arms in the name of national unity. They serve too, as the guiding principles that will be at the heart of every decision we make moving forward. As the preeminent cultural, military and economic force in Europe today our words carry tremendous weight. Yet, we also carry an enormous responsibility, which without your support I could not dare carry alone.”

“ Like the northern star above us, which for centuries has been the beacon of guidance to the human race we too, must be the beacon for the people of Europe. Throughout its entire history, Europe and its denizens have been unable, or perhaps unwilling to emulate our successes. Instead, they embrace the fires of war, anarchy and in the process breed constant inferiority.”

“ And as Europe rolled around in the sludge of its errors, Drakun has stayed above; preferring to seek enlightenment and the betterment of our nation. My brethren, to put it bluntly we have been selfish. It had not dawned on the previous leadership that the root cause of Europe’s stunning inability to do anything right or civilized is because they have no leader themselves. They have no father, and when there is no father the son becomes degenerate and incapable of success.”

“This is why, starting today we shall export our supremacy. We will foster the development of Europe into a proud child. This is not our destiny brother and sisters. Our destiny was to forever shine as an example of what Europe could be. Nevertheless, as I said we make our own destiny here in the Imperium. We bow to no God, no man and no state. Drakun is the king of all nations, and I am its Scepter. And no matter the cost we will succeed in this endeavor; we will forcefully construct a New World Order.”

“We will institute trade with other nations; teach them the ways of an economic juggernaut. We will form alliances, and relations. We will crush those who embrace ignorance. We will export our paradise to the world below. It is our solemn duty, it is our chosen destiny.”

As Gabriel ended his speech, his blood boiled in cold furry. Someone had tried to sabotage his moment. The Teleprompters had screwed with the speech, replacing small words, and twisting phrases in the hopes he would repeat them. The contortions, if spoken would have changed the tenor from a call to arms, into a call for submission at the hands of a dictator. Something so petty would be hard to grasp for foreigners. But, such small changes to the speech would have galvanized the guardian council into action and united them around opposition to supposed imperial ambitions. It’s the only thing the council ever united under, not out of misguided patriotism but to protect their own power.

Had Gabriel not committed the speech to memory trough rigorous practice the entire thing would have been a disaster. An investigation would have to be undertaken, the conspirators routed. For now though, he would bathe in the adoration and criticism to follow. Drakun had indeed emerged… into what was open to interpretation.

(OOC: Posted speech earlier to allow people the opportunity to react, and give them more to work with if they wanted during their opening posts. Note this is just the beginning! So I hope you guys all enjoy it!)

 

[Khemia]

"Bah, that was a load of kee nok!" (bird shit) Vuthisit grumbled, turning the television off from his condo in Sri Rama. He turned about on his couch to look at the naked girl laying in the hot tub behind him. "I can't even see the north star from here! What a sack of crap."

"Ignore the television, I have needs too..." the woman purred from the bubbling water around her.

"You have needs!" Vuthisit laughed, standing up and loosening his tie. "Show me."

 

[Breotonia]

Akio Watanabe was officially foreign service officer for His Majesty's Diplomatic Mission to Cornavia which was the closest permanent presence the Breotish Government had to the Imperium. Of course, that was largely a cover. Watanabe, the great-grandson of Oikawan immigrants, was an analyst and information gatherer for the Office of Naval Intelligence. Despite its global reach ONI, like most intelligence agencies, preferred not to broadcast its presence by opening offices that read Breotish Intelligence - Informants Inquire Within. So, again like other nations, the spies were hidden not so secretly amongst the diplomatic staff in embassies and consulates. Same location, minimal exposure, plus diplomatic immunity. Best of all worlds. Except, of course, when it lands you outside on the top of the planet in winter.

"Frosty fucking hellhole." Watanabe thought, even his internal monologue seemed to shiver with the cold. The speech seemed long, or perhaps it was the fact that he felt like he was getting frostbite with each passing second. It was also foreboding. The Imperium had always been a wildcard but it had always been a wildcard that was never dealt. Sure, it could go from zero to batshit insane in an instant but it always kept to itself which is a quality that Breotonia appreciated. Now, it seemed, things were changing which, based on the rhetoric, probably meant headaches for Watanabe and the Government in general.

The Foreign Office did not want to send anybody but the Prime Minister insisted when there had been hints of benefits, and punishments, for nations depending on whether or not they had sent representation. ONI had volunteered Watanabe (without his consultation) when they saw a chance to gather a few pieces of information as well as appease the new, perhaps insane, leader of the Imperium. Perhaps he and Simm have a few things in common. He thought a bit bitterly, Watanabe had heard rumors that Simm, the new prime minister, might be a bit "unstable" himself.

There had only been glimmers of what Gabriel intended to do with the Imperium. The man spoke in riddles. Watanabe was accustomed to Breotish politicians who spoke in circles. He took an instant personal dislike of the man upon his disparaging remarks about "foreigners". He may be the son of the son of the son of immigrants but he was Breotish and that meant a certain type of refined nationalism. He looked down his proverbial nose at any comments that might hint at any type of inferiority. Of course, if one thought about it fairly, that meant he and Gabriel at least shared that much. A probably unjustified but unstoppable certainty that he and his people were a bit better then everybody else.

Once he had a moment he communicated a dry report back to ONI offices. They would see the speech in its entirety and they could judge the substance in detail.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------​

Naval Communication Service
Encryption Code: Gamma
Classification: Top Secret
Public Key: file/just_ad_nauseam/

121315Z DEC 2010
From: 00786-31761-AW
To: BERTH - ONI HQ - SECTION I
Subject: PUBLIC EVENT - DRACUN IMPERIUM

It is my personnel recommendation that, in light of the speech of [14-12-2010] at [HAESTUR - DRACUN IMPERIUM] by [SCEPTER] [GABRIEL] intelligence gathering activities be intensified. A STARS should be redirected to monitor in depth naval assets/activities for the purpose an updated threat assessment. If necessary and possible PROWLER CORPS should allocate assets for an extended monitoring of any targets of interest.

Possibility of economic/political cooperation. Advise efforts be made on this front if FOREIGN OFFICE deems it worthwhile.

 

[Confederal Republics]

During his younger days at the Sebastian Quintaine University, William Hicock's antics as a womanizing, liquor-inebriated and drug-experimenting mustang of the highest order had earned him the nickname of "Wild Bill". Alas, since the Department of International Relations of the said university trained most of the professional appointees of the Commonwealth Diplomatic Service, the name had stuck. But then again, "Will Bill" had done his best to keep the flame alive, even after thirty years of service. Considering that by that time most diplomats gained their first ambassadorial appointments, some already transferring out to better careers, perhaps this was why the man had been somewhat stuck in these second-in-charge appointments.

He'd been the Derjiste embassy's first secretary before the ambassador had run off on a political appointment to Southport-on-Sea, never to return, and Fenner had had something of a problem in trying to woo someone else to the country. That had been before he'd removed ad interim from the chargé d'affaires ad interim, and during the two years in which he'd headed the Kryobaijani embassy Hicock had begun to see the end of his professional career: Needless to say, frozen tundra and lots of yaks were involved. At least the hosts had a hell of a head for booze, though that also carried its downsides. Such as when after an evening destroying a couple of bottles of vodka with some random Kryobaijani officials, he had to be hungover listening to speeches made by foreign leaders whose only contact with the 21st century had apparently been in form of Cornavian spy films smuggled into the country. Too bad this Gabriel chap had only watched the portions with the villains. At least he didn't have a white pet Hajri cat on his lap. For William Hicock was allergic to cats.

"Wild Bill" reminded himself to focus on his job instead of focusing on the bottle of Bremerholm Northman Vodka awaiting him on the return flight - no doubt an useful tool for getting this ignoble hangover from his system - and to get back on the assessing which Fenner had set him out to do. Would this nation's re-emerge constitute a threat to Cornavian security and regional stability? Hard to guess, but given the amount of bluster and the lack of things to show for it, by the very least it would give Claridge House a lot of grey hairs. Would the so-called 'Imperium' constitute a target of corporate investment? Possibly, but people like this in charge didn't exactly foster political stability, not to mention the inherent bad PR. In a notably bad excuse for ruthless exploitation of other countries, Hicock and other diplomats liked to repeat a mantra that investment fostered a middle class, and middle class fostered democracy. However, that theory had never been applied to loonies.

He'd make his report from the plane, and leave the rest to Fenner and Wainwright to decide.

 

[Minhdao]

Sipping cognac by the fire with his wife and many children surrounding him, High Chairman Snr. Gen. Hien Suu Khan kept on pouring the goods in his ever emptying glass by the second. The State television did not broadcast this to the Minhdese public, but only to the people of the elite Chuthe government - all 25 generals and their respective families were to watch this.
"And people say I'm crazy..." he uttered as he downed his final sip...again.

 

[Radilo]

Mbebe felt out of place for the whole damn speech, but any black man would stand out in a crowed of pasty white people. What an odd man he thought, about the nation's leader, as he was driven to his hotel. He looked at the city passing by the taxi's window. "What a strange place," he thought to himself. The taxi pulled up to his hotel, he tipped the driver and got out. "Not too shabby."

He walked through the front door, suitcase in hand. He walked to the young woman at the reception desk; she gave him an odd look.

"Reservation is under the Radilan Foreign Office," he said calmly.

She typed a few things into her computer, then handed him his room key.

"By the way," he asked, "do you know where I cold get a good drink?"

 

[Radilo]

The young woman continued to scowl at him for a moment.

"The Entertainment District is a few blocks north, there are many bars there," she said, finally.

"Thank you."

She didn't respond, but Francois didn't care. He knew the disdain that the people of this country felt for outsiders.

He went to his room and changed into his evening wear.

After freshening up, he went outside to hail a cab. After ten minutes of no taxi stopping, he held up a hundred. After a few more minutes, one taxi finally picked him up. The driver didn't say anything as Mbebe got into the cab.

"Entertainment District."

The cab driver still didn't say anything, and just drove the outsider to his stated destination.

When they arrived Francois gave the driver the hundred and stepped out. He walked for a ways, his dark skin and demeanor ensured that he stood out. He finally happened onto an upscale bar, the kind, hopefully, that politicians would likely frequent.

He was stopped by a bouncer before he could walk in.

"Do you have reservations?" said the large man in a demeaning voice.

"Yes," said the Radilan, handing the brute a few hundreds.

The bouncer squinted at him, and opened the door.

Francois walked over to the bar, again it took him sometime to get any attention. Finally, the barkeep asked him what he wanted.

"Your best brandy neat, please."

"Would you care to open a tab?"

"Have it billed to the Radilan Foreign Ministry," he said giving him a debit card.

"Of course," there was a slight change in the bartender's tone.

"One more thing, my good man," Mbebe asked, "anyone of importance here tonight?'

The bartender pointed in the direction of a well dressed man.

"Thank you," said Francois, handing the barkeep a fifty.

He walked over to the man, and extended his hand.

"I have it on good word that you are an important person. I am Francois Mbebe, assistant to the Radilan Foreign Minister."

 

[Allegian Republic]

Haestur Entertainment District

Another beer bottle downed, Erik Markios contemplated his worsening situation in an unusually glum mood. Before Gabriel, he had been an up-and-coming star in his family. Whispers followed him that he was not just a future Councilor on the Guardian Council, but that he would rise to the position of Sceptor. Those whispers had been silenced in the era of Gabriel, the man most responsible for his family's political plight and the object of his crusade to inflict as much damage on his own liver as possible tonight. With a disgruntled snort, he placed the beer on his table and wiped his lips while his eyes glared at the television screens above the bar, "Fucken piece of shit" he mumbled as Gabriel's speech played over and over again.

From the safety of his booth he prayed for some kind of divine intervention which would strike Gabriel now. As he prayed, he couldn't help but sneer. His family's well known worship of Christianity had earned them the scorn of a rapidly secularizing state and had placed a nice rip target on their backs. Then again it didn't help that the Markios family descending from misplaced Christian pilgrims nearly two hundred years ago. In spite of their somewhat foreign nature, they had ruled Drakunian politics for nearly three generations. Now, they were up against the wall with one blow after another being landed in their guts from Scepter's allies.

Erik had ignored the prophetic warnings of several elders in his family, who believed that Gabriel Abeloth was capable of destroying the power they had culminated over the years. Erik, and many of the more arrogant, younger leaders dismissed such rants. Gabriel had been a councilor for barely three years... there was no way he would become Scepter and no way he could take on the Markios. Those memories brought Erik to the brink of pure rage, enhanced by his alcoholic binge. He grabbed an unopened beer bottle and went to chuck it at the screen only to be stopped by the murmurs of a stranger,

"I have it on good word that you are an important person. I am Francois Mbebe, assistant to the Radilan Foreign Minister."

"... you are an important person..." Those five words repeated slowly in Erik's head. His ego soothed, Erik's rage subsided only slightly. Because the man calling him important wasn't even from the Imperium. The irony of Erik's distaste for foreigners in light of his family's own personal history was not lost on him. With a deep breath, oozing with the scent of beer Erik replied. Even still, traces of arrogance slipped into his own response.

"Since when does a bartender's word count as a good word for a diplomat? Is naivety, and ignorance the reason your just an assistant?"

 

[Radilo]

Mbebe was put off by the man's words, but his face did not show it.

"In most developed nations the Foreign Minister is an elected member of Parliament, and since I have no desire to seek an election to parliament, being his assistant is as high up as I can go in the diplomatic corps. And I will note, my good man, that bartenders are keen about who enters their bar. Of course people can always be wrong, but you look like you at least think you are an important man... but I could be wrong. So you could be important or you could be irrelevant.

If you are nothing more than an well-dressed useless person, then you have my apologies and I'll be on my way. But if you are an important person, then I have additional things that I would like to talk to you about."