Reaffirming Ancient Ties (Cassiopeian~Oltremaren Meeting)

[Congress Aresura]

Cassiopeia City; Capital City of the Most Serene Commonwealth of Cassiopeia

09:59 Local Time​

The sun was shining with nary a cloud in the sky, but the air was cold, very cold. Not surprising considering the nation's location in the world, but nonetheless, His Most Serene Majesty, Francesco VII, much preferred to be back in Corpus Christi. True, mountains of paperwork and whining nobles and commoners waited there, but at the least it was warm... -er anyway.

He had cranked up the heater in the back of his armored car to the max, but still the cold managed to seep in here and there. Or maybe that was just his imagination, it was hard to tell anymore, with all the work that was being shoved on him. He was beginning to understand some of the reasons why his father had abdicated.

This was his second international meeting, the first had been back in Corpus Christi, with the Queen of Belmont. It had been an interesting meeting to be sure, though whether it was successful or not was unclear. There was also talk of a third meeting being put together, one to occur in Oltremare's second ally (though recently that description had become somewhat unclear), Shcherbatskaya, no doubt he'd travel there too and meet with the Tsarina. No doubt also that, like here in Cassiopeia, it'd be too cold.

Now this meeting, his Royal Council had said, was mostly formalities. A somewhat ceremonial, yet practical, way to renew the strong bonds that Oltremare and Cassiopeia had shared, by making sure the leaders had seen each other face to face and heard each others words, renewing the trust so needed centuries back, and still needed today.

Francesco VII had never met the Cassiopeian leader, a Prince as his title went, yet he was not of noble blood, so he had been told. Most of the nobles in Cassiopeia had immigrated to Oltremare after the transition from Miedzymorze to Cassiopeia back in the early 1980s. His father had been rather disgruntled by said transition, but for once had kept his most... controversial thoughts to himself, put on a smile, and reaffirmed the ties as if it was quite normal for a nation to transition from a monarchy to a commonwealth.

He hoped the meeting would be somewhat productive... moreso he hoped that he wouldn't make a complete and utter fool of himself. This meeting, after all, mattered far more than the one with the Queen of Belmont... the car eventually came to a halt, and he, somewhat reluctantly, stepped out into the cold air to meet his Cassiopeian counterpart...

 

[Beautancus]

Podtrzymują Jed (Pillar One)
Ivory Towers Complex
Kasjopeja (Cassiopeia City)
Cassiopeia

It was a tightly controlled scene from some great cosmic play, already rehearsed once in the previous month, and now carefully orchestrated again. Even the cruel, heathen gods of weather seemed to be willing to compromise, and play along for this event, holding back the inhospitable mix of freezing rain, ice, and snow that had mercilessly battered Kasjopeja since the onset of winter. The cold remained, yes- the cold would always remain, as this the center of the Slavic world was the undisputed heart of Winter Herself, and no amount of adoration or blood would buy that Queen-Bitch off.

As had been the case when the representatives from Cassiopeia's western neighbor had paid their visit, the main thoroughfare running into the Ivory Towers Complex had been completely cleared of its normal traffic, with most non-essential personnel having been given an unusual day off. There would be no impromptu photo-ops, or sniper shots today- not so long as the formidable minds coiled within the core of the Ivory Towers had their say. No, this meeting, however trivial when viewed in terms of policy, was entirely too important to allow anything out of the ordinary to happen.

It wasn't exactly correct to say that the main street had been cleared, as it was now lined with what could only be hundreds of heavily armed and armored Towers Security Personnel, each standing at nearly perfect attention- metal and ceramics gleaming in the sharp winter sunlight. Even when the Oltremaren King's motorcade had come into sight, they remained motionless, a forest of life-like statues, with only their commanders offering crisp saber salutes as the bullet-proof vehicles passed.

Waiting on the steps of Pillar One, which, like its sibling Pillar Two, had been amongst the first buildings erected atop the ashes of the bombed out wasteland that had been the "government district" of Old Hrodino, Książę Patrycjusz Mniszech noted that this Oltremaren King could, if nothing else, be counted upon to be punctual. His esteemed father had grown lax in such matters in the waning years of his reign, and it was just as likely that Francesco would, probably even more quickly...but that would be during the "reign" of some other Prince of Cassiopeia, some years down the line. Hopefully.

Dropping one of his trade-mark gold-flecked cigarettes to the cement, the Prince ground the embers to nothingness beneath his impossibly well-made shoes, so well polished that seemed to be black mirrors. Running a hand over this thinning salt and pepper hair, Patrycjusz nodded to his staff, secure in the knowledge that they knew every step in the upcoming dance as well as humanly possible. No words needed to be spoken, and no words would be spoken- save to the one man that mattered here today, that being the new King of Cassiopeia's "oldest" ally.

When the King's car came to a halt, and his own servants opened the door for him, the Cassiopeian Prince strode forward, taking great bounding energetic strides, belying a force of will that few in the world truly understood, or had had the opportunity to witness firsthand.

"Your Majesty, welcome, welcome to Cassiopeia! I have been looking forward to this meeting since I was informed that you would be coming personally. You have done our humble nation a mighty service by coming in person, and let me say that it will not be forgotten easily." Taking the King's hand in his own, the Prince locked eyes with the younger man, ice-blue orbs colder than any winter day- or night- that Cassiopeia had to offer. Here was a man that the world was not yet prepared to face, though there was now no choice in the matter- for friend or foe. The Sarmatian Titan had awakened to find the world ready, and willing- legs spread wide for the deflowering.

"Please, let us be rid of this cold, I have every idea that our less than fortunate climate is far from pleasant for you. Drinks, yes- good Cassiopeian whiskey will cure this, while we have our chat by the fire. Come, come."

 

[Congress Aresura]

Soft hazel eyes stared back into ice-cold blue ones, the genuine smile evident there along with the more visible one. "It is only one of many I intend to do for your great nation, in an effort to repay the debt we in Oltremare owe you. Never will we forget the deeds you have done for us centuries back and, I'm sure, centuries to come."

At his counterparts next words, he laughed and nodded. "Your Excellency, you read my mind, or perhaps feel my hands." It was true, his hands were feeling like ice, both to him and undoubtedly the Cassiopeian Prince. Poor blood circulation, his doctors said, a good way to compliment his curse of overheating far too easily. In a way, it complimented his character: he could not handle either extreme, be it temperature, or politics.

Once inside the room, he immediately gravitated towards the roaring fire and stripped off his gloves, allowing the heat to wash over his frozen hands. Pinpricks could not mask the relief that covered his hands, so great it was he even commented, "Aaah... that's much better."

It seemed an eternity, though it was only a few seconds, before a glass of Cassiopeian whiskey came into his field of vision. "Many thanks." He said as he accepted the offer, and took a sip before sitting. The whiskey burned with the same intensity as the fire as it raced down his throat, but like the fire, a warmth returned to his body, and another pleased sigh escaped his lips before sitting down.

"Whatever comes out of this meeting, my friend, I will say this: the rumors are true: Cassiopeian whiskey and hospitality are the best in all of Europa." To others, a throwaway comment intended for flattery, but it got results, and the sincerity certainly had to help.

 

[Beautancus]

Mniszech's smile grew frosty for the briefest of seconds, as the whiskey passed between his lips and slid down his gullet like liquid fire. The reassuring warmth, like the embrace of a half-remembered mother settled into his stomach, coursing through his soul, or what passed for it at this late hour in this epoch of human history.

"Yes, yes indeed. I can say with all honesty that no other nation in the world can possibly claim to produce as fine a whiskey as we Sarmatians."

Mniszech glanced down at the tumbler in his hand, and lifted it up, slightly tipped towards the Oltremaran monarch. "To history, o' dearest ally of my people, and to righting the wrongs that have so often been done to us."
Allowing that a moment to sink in, the Prince of the Most Serene Commonwealth settled back into his chair, old bones and old leather creaking as one. "I must say that I am quite flattered that you found the time to make the trip here Your Majesty. I have no doubt that this is proving to be amongst the most trying times in your life. You are, however, proving to be most adept at rising to, and hurtling beyond all challenges. Quite masterfully."
Accepting the King's nod as agreement, Mniszech plucked three new cubes of ice from the bucket just off hand, and refilled his tumbler, this time far deeper than the initial pour.

"Care to top yours off while I'm at it?" Taking care not to pour too much for the Oltremaren King, but just enough to ensure that this would be as lively a conversation as possible, the Cassiopeian Prince capped the decanter, perhaps older than both men combined, and shelved it.

"Well. I suppose that I should preface all that I am about to say with this: our two peoples have long been tied together by the strongest of bonds, by a willingness to share both prosperity and suffering. For my part, I have no intention of seeing this relationship changed, not even slightly. The centuries have indeed proven that the Most Serene Kingdom is the best friend that the Sarmatian people could possibly hope for. You have stood shoulder to shoulder with us in the darkest and most hopeless of hours, from the conquest of the Eastern Barbarians- the Jizhou, to the unspeakable horrors of the Great War. It is my heart's true desire that you be adequately recompensed for this friendship- both historical, and that which you might offer up in the future." He leaned forward again now, locking eyes with Francesco.

"The tide of history is once more swelling against us Your Majesty. These dusky days promise to see events every bit as titanic as those we witnessed in the late 30's, and 40's. The question that I will pose to you, here and now is this: would you rather simply ride that wave out, and see what scraps the great unforgiving global machine is willing to leave us? Or shall we for once, stride forward and claim our rightful place in the world?" Carefully gauging the King's reaction, Mniszech moved on.

"I know that is impossibly cryptic, and I apologize for that, but I fear that the sum of what I am proposing might well shake the very foundations of the world, not merely our two nations, or even our beloved Greater Sarmatia. The world entire."

 

[Congress Aresura]

The wide, genuine smile that first graced Francesco's lips, as the seconds passed and the Cassiopeian Prince moved through his speech, began to fade, and morph into something more... polite, forced. This was not how he expected the meeting to begin, not even contain. Granted, he hadn't known what to expect at all, but one thing was for sure, this was squarely in the 'not expecting at all' box.

The words were good, flattering, promising, they had stirred a perhaps patriotic part of the Oltremaren King's spirit. But the tone had grown unusually ominous, as though Francesco was about to open a previously unseen door that led into... what exactly? Destiny? There were faint warning bells ringing in the back of Francesco's mind, screaming to the King that he ought to tread carefully here, for this was an unknown path, and the dangers were very real.

Buying time with a sip of his whiskey, he considered Mniszech's... prologue was perhaps the best description possible at this point. The Cassiopeian had a plan of some sort, and he had promised it would not only change the dynamics of their two nations, but it would change "the world entire." His words had been sincere, that much Francesco could tell. The obvious question now was "what is his vision, and where do I, and my people, fit in it?"

There was only one way to find out now... those warning bells still ringing in the back of his mind, he replied carefully, "Your Excellency, you must consider gardening as a hobby, the way you plant seeds of curiosity in my mind, and how they bloom so fast." Flattery, albeit cheap flattery, to buy more time to marshal his question, "For centuries, Oltremare has struggled to find its place in the world. We were not accepted by the Catholic West, by our ancient, ethnic brothers and sisters. Instead, the East, the glorious, mystical, powerful East accepted us, gave us a reason to exist. Yet even here, we have had to fight to survive against new foes, powerful foes. So far, we have survived, and we have some comforts as rewards... but, I think, we still search for our meaning, why we exist where we are."

"So tell me, Your Excellency. Besides being eternally at the side of our northern brothers, now in blood as well as spirit, what is Oltremare's rightful place in the world?"

 

[Beautancus]

A smart one, if young, this Francesco is. That is for the best. Mniszech smiled inwardly at this assessment. All his sources had told him that this King would be far more interesting than the last- but interesting often had a way of proving to be a decidedly bad thing. Unless the Prince of the Most Serene Commonwealth missed his mark, that would not be the case here.

Levering himself out of his chair, and motioned towards the fireplace that roared not so many feet away from where they had been sitting. Assured that the King was in fact paying careful attention to those flames, Mniszech drained his tumbler of whiskey and set it rather gently on the hearth over the fireplace. He allowed the silence to draw out between them for a moment more, the only sound in the great chamber was the steady crackling of the flames, and the odd tinkle of a melting ice cube in the tumblers.

"Your Majesty, the rightful place of your patrimony is at the top of the world, so to speak. Oltremare- and her brothers and sisters in Sarmatia have for so long been the object of the absolute and unrestrained ire of so much of the world- the Occidental Catholic nations, the myriad of nations of Tōyō...all have at one time or another rampaged through our borders. They have burned away countless cultural treasures, polluted generations with their rapine...And they will again soon- whether it be through cultural, economic, or martial might. We are powerful in our own rights now- more powerful than we've ever been, and truly when our alliance is taken as a whole, as a single power bloc- we're more powerful than nearly any other nation, with the obvious exceptions of the Oikawan Empire and the Levantine States. The status of the Commandry, is of course...more difficult to wager a guess at, but it has been our business for several hundred years to stand firm against them, and that we have. Regardless of all of this, the fact remains that we now find ourselves with more power and wealth than we have ever enjoyed before."

Smiling at the King's acknowledgement of this fact, which though flattering was just that: a fact, Mniszech came back to his seat, though taking the time to pour himself another, even stouter drink. Draining half the tumbler before he retook his place in the throne-like chair, he produced a pack of cigarettes from a pocket inside of his jacket. The filter on the thing was surprisingly golden, to the point that it might well have seem to Francesco that it was actually gold flecked. Which, it was. After offering the King a cigarette, Mniszech lit his own, and allowed the smoke to curl around his face- which appeared to be deep in thought, which was exactly how the Prince wanted it to appear.

"I propose that we, for the first time in four hundred years, take the initiative in deciding our collective destiny, Majesty. We obviously have the means to assure that our will is seen done- and we more than have the right. We have the duty, truly. To ensure that our children enjoy the wealth of the ages as so many infinitely less worthy races have done- at our expense. We must wage a war, a Holy War, for the sake of our Great Mother, the whole of Great Sarmatia. We must seize these days for what they are, the best of seasons to march into the sunset. Will you, as have so many Oltremaren Kings before you, stand firm at our side? Will you see your nation, so worthy, and yet so despised by the corrupt, weak, and ultimately doomed nations of the world made into what it has always deserved? An Imperial Power of unquestioned might? Will you join us in this Sacred Struggle dear friend? Will you join us, in claiming our place in the sight of the Heavens?"

 

[Congress Aresura]

Accepting the cigarette and pocketing it, for Francesco had made an internal promise to never smoke until "an appropriate event", he took a few seconds to stare deep into the roaring fire, as though attempting to divine the future in the dancing tongues of flame and smoldering embers.

It would be war, then. War with the Catholic West, war with the Oikawan-occupied east. War, perhaps, with the whole world outside of the region of Sarmatia, if the man that now stood next to him waiting eagerly, but patiently, for a response was not stopped. Did Francesco want glory, prestige, the wealth of the world sitting not just in his lap, but the laps of all Oltremaren? Of course, without a doubt. Every leader, likely, had that dream.

Did Francesco want war with the world to get it?

...

No.

But did his people? After what they've been through? With the right words, the right bait, they would, he realized. They had been through centuries of hate and mistrust of the world around them save for the East. The very real chance of revenge for all they had been through, all they had lost, all they could have had, few would deny it. He knew that all too well. He could remember the reactions of his advisors, of people on the news, when he accepted the Belmontien Queen's offer to have a meeting. And that was just a small meeting. If he stood in their way for too long... if he stood in his ally's way... what would happen to him? Francesco Ceretto VII, King of Oltremare, would be, if not removed, controlled, he concluded. Against his will, no matter what he said or did, he would not be able to stop what was about to occur.

"Ever since that day so many centuries ago, June 6th, 1666, on the shores of the capital Novara, the Kingdom of Miedzymorze has stood by the Most Serene Kingdom of Oltremare, even after it transformed into the Most Serene Republic of Cassiopeia. Ever since that same day, we have stood by you, and followed you to victory, and into the abyss. Our finest moment was during the Great War, when all hope seemed lost, we prevailed despite everyone else saying it was impossible."

He turned to the man who would go forward, with support or not, and eased in a smile. "What kind of King would I be, what kind of people would we be, if we did not stand by you here and now, indeed, to the end of all life in Europe? Tell me, my friend, how shall we take that which is rightfully ours?"