Nilintev Castle Peace Conference

*A loud, raucous voice booms from behind the servants' door, in the vicinity of the kitchen's plating area*

"...and he gulps down the goblet of water."

"But the Sultan, he is not too fond of our hot and spicy Bolidorean dishes, so again he sends his manservant to find him some water."

"And again the young boy returns, and His Excellency the Sultan guzzles the water. He then gasps 'More water,' hands the goblet back to the lad and shoos him off..."

"Minutes pass, and the boy returns trembling, empty glass in hand. 'Where is my water?!!' the Sultan roars. 'I am so sorry, my master,' stammers the servant, 'but another guest was sitting on top of the water hole.'"

"HAR HAR HAR HAW heeeeee HAW heeeeeee HAW HAW heeeeeeee"

*Clearly the Bolidoreans have indeed sent their cook to represent their nation*

"Please inform the pilot that we are running late." The Praeceptor told one of his well-suited men. Reaching behind him, he adjusted the M5 Cobra revolver hidden under the back of his well-fitted suit, tapered such that unless he bent over entirely, such a piece would not be visible. Most would have taken it for a sign of mistrust or impending betrayal, but far from it. The Praeceptor knew that he inevitably had enemies and was not above dispatching them himself should any prove hostile - and while in transit, it was possible to take down the distinguished VTOL, and it would be possible in such a case that he were left alive.
To be prepared was always one of his number one goals in life, to be prepared for anything. It was why he wore a braided paracord bracelet, why he had a revolver tucked into the back of his pants, a GPS locater injected into his foot, among other things.
So, of course, he did have a contingency plan for being so very late. "Skip the airport. Take me to the castle." He turned to another man, also in a black suit, "Call the airport. Have them cancel the sedans."

It wasn't much longer before the UV-50 Hydra, a modified AUV-50 Dragon, this one specifically for Praeceptor-use, began to rotate it's rotors upwards for landing. Beneath it, snow began to spiral up and flare out around the wash of the large rotors as the VTOL began to touch-down, splashing against the dark reds and grays of the aircraft. It wasn't until the rotors stopped that the Praeceptor had the door lowered, and his detail of a dozen dark suited men filed out with him. He rapidly took the lead, to their disliking, but he was in one-of-those-moods. His very walk, as he approached the gate, told of urgency and annoyance. Praeceptor Ryan Tanter was here for business. He didn't have time for such feline shenanigans, but he needed to ensure this was done properly.

He was allowed through the gate upon flashing his ID, and he, with his detail approached the castle. He was directed properly; two of his detail went back to wait with the VTOL, and of the remaining ten, four waited outside the castle, four outside the conference room with the Vizindolf Guard, and two began to patrol. If requested, they would open up their suits and reveal their MP-14 SAMPAC submachine guns, but would be hesitant to relinquish them. They were trained to be paranoid, but after all this was a peace conference. Some leeway had to be given on the side of peace, so the would allow themselves to be relieved of their guns.
After all, the Lone Wolves could almost just as easily kill with their pens.

Gunther Feldmarck, the personal cook to El Presidente Alphonse Simms, could be a bit of a bore, but he was an expert with a knife. He could devein shrimp with the flick of a wrist, fillet a sea bass with unrivaled skill, or pare an apple with precision. And he was one of the world's foremost artisans in the preparation of banana souffles, banana breads, banana puddings, banana cream pies and banana splits, amongst other delicacies.

What he was not was a trained killer, spy, envoy or negotiator. He was simply a very excellent chef with a satellite phone and the direct telephone number of one Roberto Straussman, Chief of the Bolidorean Secret Police. He was simply to listen to any proposals at the peace conference and call Chief Straussman with the details.

Unless it was to be prepared as a plate of food, Gunther Feldmarck was not going to kill anything -- though some may groan when they hear his jokes...

.

Julius Wolovitch stepped into the room, and went to sit with the observers of the conference.

"Let's see if this accomplishes anything," he thought to himself.

OOC: Hey, Alunya, are you getting TGs all right? I'm a bit worried since you haven't answered any of my messages. Asking here because my comments on the RMB keep getting pushed back.

Representative Ziematt's motorcade worked its way through the southern mountains of Kialga. The motorcade passed the Kialga-Vizindolf border on pre-approved means and continued the southern trek to the Nilintev Castle of Vizindolf. The dreary snow outside the vehicle had the Kialgan representative gazing out, in a most unpleasant position. Nigh Citta was far from the border of Vizindolf, and she had been riding in the motorcade for a vast majority of the way. She cast her eyes upon the laptop her assistant was using, and then to the bag she carried cast lazily into the floor.

"I do love the mountains, but this trip has really been a bore," she spoke aloud to no one in-particular. Her assistant gave a slight nod, tapping a couple of more lines down upon the document before turning to the representative.

"This is worth it ma'am. If we can get them to turn to peace, we won't have to bring any of that nasty justice committee garbage the region has set up, into it."

"I guess you are right," Natalie said with a sigh as she returned to glance out the window and into the snow. A small buzz came from the front of the limousine.

"Miss Ziematt, we have arrived."

She turned to look to the front, out the window and through the snow. She at first saw nothing, but a light patch of snow wavered and cleared a view for the representative to see the castle and all its splendor. She gasped slightly, but regained her composure as the motorcade traveled through the castle gates and to the entrance.

As a peaceful representative of Kialga in the International Western
Union, she made entrance into the neighbouring nation without any
military assistance. Her assistant, however, held a small pistol within her jacket as a last resort.

Representative Ziematt exited her vehicle, assistant at her side, and entered the castle. The grandeur of the building alone awed her, and she found herself at a loss of words as she entered the main hall.

She took a seat without entertaining her host as to her name. Her assistant set a small Kialgan flag near the representative as she glanced around the room. Of the nations represented, she saw none from any of the nations she had met with before. "A shame," she thought as she finished settling in, hoping that peace could come easy.

[This is actually looking good in post quality for me. :3]

It was long flight east, nearly 13 hours, from Iloistan to the nation of Vizindolf and every passing minute filled the newly appointed Grand Ilo Conner Adamas with stress. Many things raced through his mind: Would the well established leaders treat him as an equal? Could this conference achieve peace? Might the K.R.F. attempt a second assassination? Would his own people respect his authoritah? Would there be bananas? He had removed the 200 kilometer "danger zone" in hopes that it would gain him international respect. As he flipped through Michael Altman's notes, it began to dawn on him that this would be the defining moment of his political career. The lives of possibly several million soldiers depended on this conference and his ability to treat. It also distressed him that he would be the only true representative from his side as the Bolidoreans had decided to send a chef. There was also the rescue operation being executed in international waters that he had just been informed of 3 hours prior when he left Iloistalibad, but he had that pushed to the back of his mind.

He had brought no advisers aboard King Raven 1 with him in light of Altman's assassination and had only brought his personal assistant Karne Hadin, who was currently in the next cabin dealing with some minor state matters for him. He also had a security detail of 10 Ikcolo Guards and 2 Ocelots.

Just then Karne poked her head into his cabin and said "Sir, you should really get some sleep. You have a big day tomorrow and shouldn't spend the entire night worrying about matters that can't be changed."

"Your probably right, as always," he responded followed with a yawn. He attempted to sleep, and succeeded after a hour of calming his mind down.

*******************

"Sir, wake up."

"Huhhhh......," was Adamas mumbled response.

"Sir were approximately 30 minutes from landing in Vizindolf, we need to get you ready for the conference," his assistant replied.

Adamas, partially startled, jolted upright. "Ah yes the peace conference, " he coolly replied. This was going to be a long day.

30 minutes later King Raven 1 landed in Vizindolf and Grand Ilo Adamas was quickly escorted to their countries ambassadorial sedans. After a short drive of about 20 minutes, they arrived at Nilintev Castle. Adamas marveled at the snowy peaks which he had rarely seen in his own country except on one trip he had taken to the Icthancar Peninsula via the Great Highway which followed the Urankana Mountains.

Two Guards remained with King Raven 1, four stayed with the sedans, and the final four followed Adamas and his assistant into the castle. The two ocelots proceeded to patrol the surrounding countryside.

Upon entering the Caste, Adamas was impressed with the size and architecture of the building, which he deduced rivaled that of the the Great Rotunda in which his countries top officials met. He proceeded to sit next to the chef and mentally prepared himself for the overwhelming task that lay before him. On a side note he was greatly happy that Vizindolf had appropriately supplied bananas for the conference.

"Hey Conner, have you tried these bananas?" Gunther Feldmarck asked the Grand Ilo of the Federation of Iloistan. "Simply dreadful -- nothing but a plain old vanilla Cavendish cultivar. Now your country and mine, we know a great banana when we see one." The personal cook of El Presidente, an observer for his native Bolidor, was upbeat and carefree in his assessment of the fresh fruit.

"And by the way, sorry to hear about the loss of your previous Grand Ilo, old What's-His-Name. I often try not to listen to anything going on around me, just so I can avoid hearing about such awful things. But the others around the table were talking about it, and since I was supposed to listen to what they had to say, I couldn't help but hear about it. But I'm really sorry about that. Hearing about it, that is. Dreadful."

"But I've got just the thing to cheer you up. I'm sure you've heard that those crazy Alunyans are going to send their almighty Royal Llama Guard against us. It made me think, which is always a dangerous thing, I dare say, so I just have to share this with you. You'll get a kick out of it."

"Do you know what a one-el lama is? No? Well, I'll tell you, it is a wise man from India."

"And a two-el llama is one of those ridiculous Alunyan beasts, a camelid originally from the Andes in South America."

"But I'll bet you can't guess what a three-el lllama is! No? No?!!"

"I'll tell you. It is a major fire in the Bronx, in New York City!"

"HAR HAR HAR HAW heeeeee HAW heeeeeee HAW HAW heeeeeeee"

With his rosy red cheeks, his mirth-shaken belly, his bushy white beard and the twinkle in his eye, Feldmarck could quite easily be mistaken for a certain seasonal jovial old fellow if it weren't for his toque blanche sitting jauntily atop his head.

.

Gunther Feldmarck shifted uncomfortably under the gaze of the Alunyan princess, but it wasn't due to her outburst. An itch had to be scratched, right below, or rather left below, his ample belly. Figuring no one would mind, he jabbed his left hand under the waistband of his white chef's trousers, and simultaneously lifted his left haunch...

...FRRRUUUUUUUMP!

A stench akin to three day old frothy banana beer wafted into the hall. It was not a pleasant odor.

"Ah, there he is," exclaimed the chef, drawing his left hand out of his pants. It was then that he noticed the many tensed gentlemen and gentlewomen in the various delegations, their own hands reaching into jackets and coats as if to grab something themselves.

"What?!!" he exclaimed, opening his hammy hand. "It's not like I have crabs in my pants! This is Simon, my Bolidorean Blue Barking Spider." The hand-sized iridescent blue arachnid raised its opithosoma, as if to let out another foul-smelling warning bark.

"As for the Alunyan demands, our Chief of our Secret Police has anticipated correctly what they might be. El Presidente is keeping Rimshot," answered Feldmarck. He reached into the lower right pocket of his white double-breasted chef's jacket, slowly and carefully this time, and withdrew a white envelope. He tossed it haphazardly on the table in front of the princess. "Inside you will find fifty-three Bolidorean pesos, worth the adoption fee. Take it or leave it. Frankly, my dear, I don't give a damn."

With that, he picked up Simon and put him on his shoulder, then turned towards the doors at the far end of the conference room. The toque blanche atop his head bounced buoyantly in counterpoint to his big Boldiorean buttocks as he waddled out of the great hall.

"Yes these bananas are rather distasteful, but at least they tried. Now I think we should......."
At that moment Grand Ilo Conner Adamas was cut off by Princess Junia as she delivered her ultimatum. Then the chef pulled a spider out of his belly and stormed off stating that Bolidor would not comply.

"Well...........I guess that concludes negotiations," Conner Adamas mumbled in shock to himself. Shit had already hit the fan and he had only been in the great hall for about 2 minutes. He scanned his fellow delegates, some appearing shocked, some looked unfazed, and some looked like shit had actually been thrown into a fan. Then he noticed that all eyes in the room had fallen on him, the only member of the defendant side in the room.

"I think.......," he stammered, "I think I'll go find the chef and try to bring him back so that we can continue "negotiating" like rational people and not jump to ultimatums," he added more firmly. With that he exited the hall and began frantically searching for the chef so that he could deliver his plan for the negotiations. He had a damn good plan and he wasn't going to let the region fall into chaos over a cat.

As he exited the hall, he spotted his very concerned looking assistant who immediately pointed to the door to the outer courtyard. He quickly caught up to the chef and began explaining his plan of what their terms for peace could be:

1. Bolidor would return Rimshot, but only if the Alyunians signed a contract that would allow Bolidor to quickly purchase the cat legally if the Bolidorean palace passed the the cat rescues inspection.
2. Both Bolidor(unfortunately) and Alyuna would pay hefty fines to all others in the region for wasting so much money and time over this petty affair. (Iloistan would help pay Bolidor's fine if it was too much for the Bolidorean economy.)

The chef stared at him for a few moments and then replied that he would consult the Secret Police Chief about his proposal. While he awaited the chef's reply, his assistant Karne approached him with most troublesome news. Gross Independency had joined Alyuna and that Alyuna had officially declared a state of war against Bolidor.

"Contact Grand Lord of Admirals Hayden Dekara and notify him that I'm placing all Fleets on Tier 5 Alert and that we are officially in a state of war against Alyuna. Also tell him the phrases, "end game", "tropic thunder", and "ground hog", he will know what they mean."

She quickly hurried back to the castle. It began to sink into Conner's mind that if the war did happen, Iloistan might not have the manpower to protect Bolidor from Alyuna, Holy Neo-Assyrian Empire, and the Gross Independency, but it was his countries duty to protect those who can't protect themselves. And what of Spear? What were they up to in light of all this conflict.

Gunther Feldmarck hung up after his brief conversation with Chief Straussman of the Secret Police. Rimshot's residency with El Presidente would not be subject to the whims of anyone from the Kingdom of Alunya; that was non-negotiable. And while the wily chief was willing to bind the Alunyans to a contract that declared the cat to be in the sole custody of El Presidente without conditions, the lawman had also pointed out that this was already the de facto case.

As to the claims that others might make over their costs in time and money over the affair, that was not nor ever would be Bolidor's concern. After all, there were plenty of other nations that did not blockade Bolidorean shores, did not attend peace conferences, and did not spend even a single thought about Bolidor or Rimshot. Those natio0ns incurred no expenses in their time or materials, and if some other nations chose to do so, then they chose to do so, and the expenses were rightfully theirs to absorb. Bolidor, the Chief proclaimed, would not reimburse them no matter what they claimed.

Gunther rather liked Conner, who seemed to appreciate a good joke. And he, El Presidente's personal chef, had plenty of those to tell. "Hey, Conner, how 'bout we go back to the airport and sit in a bar and quaff a few Musa Head banana beers? The crowd there is likely to be a funner bunch than the dour folks inside that foreboding place," he said, nodding at the imposing Nilintev Castle.

Conner's cell beeped. He looked at it briefly. It was a text from his assistant. It said, "Alyuna has begun a full scale invasion of Bolidor and Spear hasn't tried to stop it yet. We are on our own."

"You know what Feldmarck, I think I'll take you up on your offer on that banana beer. Besides I doubt anything will truly get accomplished in there anyway. None of them seem to be pressing for any fair diplomacy. Lets get the hell out of here."

He texted his assistant to round up the guards and Ocelots. They were going to the airport for a few well earned drinks.