Avatar of Enigmatik


Recent Statuses

27 days ago
Current Burning Man? More like 'marshy swampland' amiright? Eh? Eh?
1 like
10 mos ago
Living do be a powerful and strange experience sometimes.
11 mos ago
Hope y'all are getting real spooped right now.
1 like
11 mos ago
Trying to navigate the website of a country's Ministry of Foreign Affairs and it keeps shortening it to 'MOFA.' All I can think about is 'MOFA deez nuts.'
2 yrs ago
Merry Christmas and keep the change, ya filthy animals.


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Most Recent Posts

Dropping my first bump!
Greetings Friend

Come on in, sit down and rest your weary bones. My name is Enigmatik (also known as Irredeemable,) and I'm a mature, advanced writer seeking a partner for a few of my more specific plots and pairings. A few things about myself first, so you know what you're getting into, and then I'll get into what, exactly, I'm looking for.

I'm a UK based writer (UCT 0 or +1) and have been pressing funny buttons to make words happen for over a decade now. I consider myself an advanced writer, and expect my partners to be the same, or at least very close. You should also know that I will not be responding every day. I endevour to provide replies for partners consistently, but life is life, and I'll do my darndest to let you know if I'm struggling, busy or otherwise incapable of writing. Finally, although I do write mature content, including 18+ content, I'd rather avoid writing smut without story. In moderation, in a longer running piece, it can be a nice break from everything else, but when it's the sole focus I find my attention start to waver rather quickly.

As a brief note, please either private message me, or hit me up on Discord using the name Engimatik. Odds are that I won't respond to anyone who posts in this thread.

With all that said, let's head onto the ideas:

Heroes and Villains
I've been wanting to play a specific superhero character for quite some time now - a young speedster by the name of Traverse, and I'm hoping to form a sort of 'chronicle' alongside a supporting cast that takes us across a longer period of time involving several timeskips. This would allow us to not only play around with character development, but also do some fun worldbuilding in the setting as well!

Steel and Moonlight
I have a wide array of plots and ideas for different low-fantasy pairings and settings. Anything ranging from late antiquity with crude hill forts and proto-medieval social structures to early modern escapades amidst gunsmoke and the churn of a printing press. If the idea of a small mercenary band caught up in a war much larger than themselves appeals to you, I even have a mostly fleshed out setting!

Space Truckin'
Sci-fi comes in many flavours. Hard, soft, chocolate-coated with a nougaty centre, you know the drill. Recently, I've been leaning more towards the 'nougaty centre' type, with a lack of typical soft scifi tropes while still maintaining a harder scifi feeling, minus the deep dives into physics that make my brain start to leak out of my ears. As the name suggests, space freighting or salvage is a current interest of mine, but I'm more than happy to work out different plots too!

At the moment there are really only three fandoms I'm interested in doing, and two are cheating because they're from the same franchise: Warhammer Fantasy (not AoS, I know too little,) Warhammer 40,000, and Titanfall. If any of these interest you, hit me up and let's work something out!

I hope to write with you soon!

A New Challenger Approaches

Featuring Crown Prince Raaid Ghani al-Karim and Aisha

A robed and hooded figure hurried through the winding streets of the Burj Al-Muqaddas, every step taken furtively, every new street a potential threat. They were flanked by five others, all each clad in the same lightweight robes that concealed every inch of their persons from any nosey passers-by. Over the course of the past hour, they had meticulously descended nearly a hundred and fifty stories of the arcology's colossal construction, slowly but surely making their way towards a fortress that could be their salvation.

The Al-Muqaddas spaceport was an unsightly mark on what was otherwise an elegantly designed city. Al-Muqaddas had been erected by Al-Nizam as their new capital almost a century ago now, a far cry from the older arcologies set up by the first colonists. While they had incorporated their spaceports into the heart of the city, al-Nizam could never suffer their 'perfect city' to have to endure the booms of suborbs or the roar of full thrusters being a part of the daily tapestry of life.

Not that it mattered. Six figures became three - half of the bodyguards peeling away from their charge to foray ahead. There was the sound of struggle, the wet thump of bodies falling to the floor, and then they were through the outer perimeter, scurrying towards a small ship that had been left in one of the colossal repair bays, placed there by an inside man who saw the truth of this world.

Throwing off his robes, crown prince Raaid al-Karim dashed to the controls of the small vessel, then praised whomever may be listening. They had been promised a warm engine, and here it was - fully fuelled and looking like it had only stopped idling a few minutes ago. It thrummed back to life easily - the prince's hands shifting across switches and gauges like a conductor before a symphony. Once, long ago, a royal could get away with being indolent and letting others do their job for them. But he had been born an exile. For him, 'jihad,' was not some declaration made by soft-skinned mullahs, it was his life.

"My prince." One of his guards turned to him, an eye still on the small camera built into a wrist-mounted screen. "We thought we would have five minutes but... It looks as if they are coming sooner. We need to go. Aisha!" He called out to another one of the guards. "Keep the prince safe. We'll give you as much time as you can."

There was a brief moment of pause as the four guards braced themselves. This was a death wish, and they all knew it. There would be no way out of the port once the prince's craft had gone. Then, as one, they reached for the heavier, unsilenced weapons that had laid dormant during their trip across the Burj al-Muqaddas. Gunmetal gleaming in the moonlight, they pushed their way out the door, leaving the prince to turn back to the controls, and, with a grunt, slam the button to seal the doors.

"What can I do." Aisha turned to look at the young man, her hands balled into tight fists.

"Sit there. Strap in. If I tell you to do something, do it. A craft like this is meant for short jaunts... Not whatever awaits us up there." The bodyguard nodded, just as the first crackle of gunfire made its way to the craft.

Raaid's knuckles were as pale as snow as he pushed the engine to taxi out of the repair dome. Lights winked on - first red, then amber, and finally green as the craft prepared itself to soar into the sky, and then beyond. Outside, where the group had entered, the gunfire intensified. The prince forced himself to filter out the sounds as they changed from gunfight to massacre. The thump of a grenade launcher, the scream as one of his guards was cut down. "Thirty seconds..." He tapped the readout as if it would cause time to run faster.

"Twenty..." The last of the gunfire abruptly cut off. The guards would be storming towards them now.

"Fifteen..." He eased the throttle further forwards, the craft picking up more and more speed.

"Ten seconds, fuck this, switching to lift. Hit that switch there." He gestured over, Aisha following his order instinctively. As soon as she did, the entire craft lurched uncomfortably, an awful scraping sound coming from the hull as the engines only barely pulled them up in time.

"Five..." Masked and armed figures burst through the doors and into the repair dome behind them.

"Too late," Raaid said with a grimace, slamming the throttle forwards as he did. The craft roared, shuddering a little as a few useless shots were tossed its way, the prince heaving on the controls to swing it clear of the spaceport's main operating zones. The radio lit up, surprised traffic control and furious security yelling over each other, asking for clearance, demanding that he land, but he paid no attention. They could make it to orbit in five minutes. Craft could be scrambled before that. All he could do was fly like he had never flown before, and pray that that would be enough.

"New Gateway reading." A bored-looking desk jockey swivelled around in the cramped offices that made up the Gran Republic's Sol reading post. "Tiny. Fucked to hell and back too, looks like it's spinning out." He turned back to the screen. "Fuck me, three more just spat out as well. Doesn't match anything we know. Even more new folk-"

An all-frequency broadcast blared out throughout Sol. It was in Arabic, but even those who didn't speak the language could understand the urgency of the words.

"Mayday, Mayday, Mayday. I am Crown Prince Raaid Ghani al-Karim, of the Free Dinnin Confederacy. I am requesting urgent..." The message was interrupted by a series of thuds and the sound of metal grinding against metal. Then the voice came back, sounding even more panicked. "I am requesting immediate refuge by any that can provide it. Please, if anyone can hear me, mayday, mayday, mayday!"
Shortly After the End of the Galactic War

Featuring Isabella de Lobasla

Cheers. Flags. Four planes screeched overhead, blue, white, green and gold smoke billowing out behind them in long trails. Isabella stood on an open-topped skimmer in her full regalia, the light glinting off the medals on her breast and the sword at her hip. Behind her hovered or marched those who had won the war- a victorious army receiving their rightful commendations.

The idea of a Triumph was nothing new of course, but the last time a formal one had been declared was after the end of the War of Counter Aggression, now remembered only by some of the oldest among the Gran Republic. The new war, although undoubtably necessary for galactic security, had not necessarily been met by rapturous applause by all of the Gran Republic- even with the honour and glory associated with war, rare was the mother who wouldn't rather see her child safe at home than returned in a box with military honours. The Senate needed an event to remind people why war was glorious, and this Triumph was just that.

The procession twisted through Esperanza's streets, the Admiral standing, shoulders squared, gaze steely, as if a statue rather than a living person. She was an idol- something to be appreciated from afar, revered, yet placed apart from the common plebeian who had never seen the battlefield. Finally, they reached the Cortes Generales, olive trees shimmying in the breeze and the misted water that they greedily drank up.

The skimmer slowed, and then settled onto the ground, and Isabella finally was able to descend, stretching herself as much as she could while still displaying decorum, before straightening out as camera drones descended onto her. Before her, in the wide pathway that led up to the halls of governance, stood the three most important men of the Republic. Presidente Agustín del Aquila, Almirante-da-Armada Ximeno de Araba, and Chancellor of Azulvista Federico De Lobasla. Her father.

She strode forward confidently, all internal feelings crushed down under the overwhelming sense of duty that had flooded through her. Agustín nodded at her, stone faced yet with a slight quirk at the corner of his lips, one hand extended. She shook his hand firmly, the Presidente thanking her for her service to the nation, before indicating for her to turn to Ximeno. The Almirante-da-Armada raised up an intricately-crafted golden chaplet, and when Isabella inclined her head down, he set it neatly down on her head, the weight of it sinking down through her scalp. Lastly, she turned to her father- the only man of the trio to be showing visible motion, a beaming smile across his face.

"You look magnificent you know." Her father reached out to take her hand, holding it gently. His other hand reached up, brushing a strand of hair back behind her ear, then resting against her cheek. "Your mother would be so proud of you. I hope you know that Bella."

"I know papa. I know." Emotion welled up in her gut, only for her to quickly swallow it down. She reluctantly took a step back, turning once more to Agustín as he stepped forward to address the rest of the procession, reaching up to his lapel to tap the activation for a microphone.

"Citizens! Soldiers! Heroes!" A cheer rose up from the crowd - both from the soldiers and the spectators. "Here, we recognise those that have fought, struggled and died for our glorious Republic. We have shown to the galaxy that we are no paper tiger- putting up a front of strength and cowering behind it. No! We have shown ourselves to have every bit the fortitude and prowess that took us through our long history! Today the galaxy knows, well and truly, that Azulvista will not bend or bow to dictators and oppressors, but instead stiffen ourselves and overcome, and when we have finished our work, return in glory!"

Isabella always found it astonishing how despite his years, Agustín never once faltered when publicly speaking. She was sure he had practiced this speech - anything less would have been downright irresponsible, but to hear how his voice only grew in strength and surety, the crowd hanging on to each sentence and each word... She felt like she should be taking notes.

"I am sure however you do not wish to hear me ramble on for too long," a polite chuckle rolled through the crowd. "But before you all disperse, to enjoy the holiday, the games and the festivities, I would like to commend the woman who led us from our Gateway to the doors of Dercy itself. A true hero of the Gran Republic of Azulvista, a shining example for patricians and plebeians alike... Isabella Maria Rodriguez de Lobasla!" He reached down to her clenched fist and drew it up into the air, as if he was a tournament judge rather than the president of the Gran Republic, but as the roar of the crowd rolled over her, she found it hard to appreciate the sheer bizarreness of the scene.

Twelve Hours Later

Isabella was shattered. The Triumph had only officially finished six hours ago, and from there she'd had all of forty-five minutes to get herself cleaned up, changed out of her military uniform and into a formal dress, then be ferried from her apartment in Esperanza to the Palacio where Agustín lived for a state banquet. Elsewhere she knew there had been almost non-stop celebration- she'd tuned out the fireworks hours ago, and the aerodyne that had carried her here had passed over crowds of people toing and froing to sporting events, cultural celebrations and saints knew what else.

"So, Almirante," she was jolted out of her stupor by a question directed towards her, this one fielded by... She blinked a few times, trying to recall their name, then gave up. Someone from the Senate probably. "What will you be doing now that you've become the hero of the hour? Staying the course in the Navy, or perhaps coming to spend more time planetside? Politics calling you yet?"

Isabella took a slug from her wine glass to buy a little more time, then forced a smile up and onto her face. "Well, that all depends. The Home Fleet's been a little battered recently, and the Escudo could do with some time in the shipyards. Besides, it seems clear to me that I'm expected to hang around at least a little while. Can't have me jetting off right after all these celebrations, no?"

A polite chuckle from her conversation partner. "Of course, of course. There is also the matter of a family I suppose! You're of the age to begin thinking of such, are you not?"

"Ah, well, but I'm already pretty firmly married to the Escudo as it is! Seventeen years in the Navy and I've spent half of them aboard her, can you really blame me?" A few others gave the expected response, but there was an undercurrent of concern in the room. Of course. The admiral thought to herself. You hit thirty and suddenly everyone's obsessed with when you're going to start having kids.

"Well, that is at it may be, but-" Thankfully, the statement was cut off as yet another course was wheeled into the room. Stifling a yawn, she hefted up her knife and fork, and continued on with the pageantry.

Three Days Later

She'd had to go halfway across the damn planet to get away from the crowds and the constant questions. A friend of her from back when she was in training - a Duque's daughter much like her by the name of Emeralda who had actually had her military career postponed so she could pursue promising prospects as an Olympian. Of course, she was thirty-one now and the chances of her winning another gold were looking slimmer and slimmer, but she'd got what she needed from it, and made a pretty penny off endorsements and media showings alike. And then, she'd offered Isabella a no-questions asked getaway in her father's duchy. Sure, they were in their thirties, but it wasn't like Patricians like them really got to party away their twenties, so it'd have to do.

That's why she was here, in a crowded club, thoughts lost in the maelstrom of moving, grinding humanity. Her heart thumped in time to the pounding of the bass, her hair spinning out around her, loosed from its usual practical ponytail, and for once she was dressed in something other than formal clothes or a military uniform, LED's matching the strobe lights.

The song began to fade out, and for a moment the energy in the room deflated. Opening her eyes slowly, a grin split Isabella's face as she began to work her way over to the bar... But something felt wrong. She blinked a few times, the hairs on the back of her neck beginning to stand up as the crowed began to whoop and whistle, and -

She was elsewhere. That wasn’t bass, it was the pounding of artillery, and the drunken hollering was now suddenly something much more sinister. Strobe lights flickered and spun about her, the smoke machines in the club gone from innocent atmosphere generation to the hissing of chemical weapons unleashing their payload. Her heart began to thud, harder and harder, louder and louder, and when the bartender asked for her order, the words stuck in her throat. She held a finger up, then began to push her way through the crowd, slowly at first, then faster and faster, until she practically fell through the exit and out into the bracing cold of the night.

The bouncer looked at her with a quirked eyebrow. "If you're gonna huck, the toi-" She waved a hand dismissively towards him, trying to gulp in air as quickly as possible.

"No? Too much in there or what?" He chuckled a little, eyes scanning the street.

"S...Sure. You could say that." She began to rummage through her handbag, hands shaking with every movement. Cigarettes. Lighter. She stuck the filter between her lips, then tried to spark up a flame, only to find that she couldn't quite seem to manage it. "Could... Could you light me?" She reached over, cigarette quivering in her hand as the bouncer brought his own lighter's flame down to the tip. "Gracias," she managed to mumble out, before sucking in far too much in one go.


Correct, that was already accepted.


Democracies with clauses for absolute rule, when has this ever gone wrong! RADiance accepted. As for the Ascension, while the sheet is perfectly fine, I am concerned that there doesn’t seem to be any downsides to them? A perfect digital world, anything they want, death embraced voluntarily… They seem rather Mary Sue-ish? Something to discuss on the Discord.


You don’t need me to say you’re accepted, but you are.
Hi @Kaga Classs and thanks for your interest! If you'd like to learn more, our Discord (mentioned above and in the first OOC comment) is the place to go! Unforunately though I'm going to have to ask for your post to be removed because it's in the IC section of the RP.

"History repeats her tale unconsciously, and goes off into a mystic rhyme."

- Attributed to various

Earth, the lonely blasted rock it is, has finished another rotation around Sol. The Gregorian Calender would mark the occasion as January of 2604, and now, after almost 300 years celebrating those years alone, time's passing is commemorated by the Meeting Place, the collossal cobbled-together station that hangs in High Earth Orbit, safely clear of the cloud of Kessler debris that defies a reasonable explanation for its existence.

The Meeting Place has never been quiet in the four years since humanity refound its home, but the past year has seen it swell, both in size and in population, a true intergalactic institution, a bustling meeting of minds and cultures more diverse than the system has ever held host to.

And, of course, these minds are almost invariably bickering with one another. Perhaps this is no surprise- six and a half centuries ago, there was another great war, and when it was done, so to did the powers of Earth come together in the name of peace, cooperation, and vicious, political struggle, a tale replayed over and over again throughout mankind's history.

The Earth completes another rotation. Things continue as they always have, and yet, nothing is the same.

Some Time Ago, Aboard the Meeting Place
Featuring Alfonso De Caravajal

"And so it is, with the greatest of satisfaction, that I announce the signing of the Galactic Security Charter and the consequential formation of the Galactic Security Council, an economic, military and diplomatic alliance dedicated to the promotion of interstellar security and the promotion and support of like-minded states. We hope that in so doing, we may attempt to avert the horrors wrought upon Ishtar, Americana, Nova Tierra and countless other planets and peoples ravaged by war and instability. Muchas gracias, and viva Azulvista." De Caravajal's grin could best be described as 'shit eating' as he finished reading the announcement. He offered several emphatic waves towards the audience before sweeping his datasheet up and beginning to leave the stage. Just before he fully departed however, he paused and offered the audience a slightly indulgent bow, finally taking his leave. Pawn to E4. Now all that was left was to see how the others responded.

Now, Aboard The Meeting Place

Featuring Rafael Mendoza & Antonio de Lebrón

Rafael Mendoza nursed a cup of coffee as he examined the datasheet in front of him. There was a never-ending amount of paperwork required to keep the diplomatic and administrative functions of the Gran Republic ticking over smoothly, and as a mathetes - even one in the senior service like himself, that meant it was his job to seperate wheat from chaff, decide which meetings were worth his time, shoot down infuriatingly stupid proposals and otherwise make sure that individuals like De Caravajal could make their grand proclimations and have their photos splashed across the international news.

The largest report today was simply fascinating however. New nations seemed to come in gluts when it came to their Gateways opening, for reasons the diplomat could not bother attempting to find an answer for, but this one... He tapped down hard on the datasheet, re-reading the few scant lines on it. A Gateway had recently opened, and exploratory probes had monitored radio contact from the system, in Arabic, but there had been no attempts at communication. Further expeditions were planned. He tapped the little bookmark and set a timer to remind himself to follow up on the occasion, then took another slug of his coffee, trying to move on to the next agenda.

Then the door to his relatively comfortable office was thrust open, and a tall, broad shouldered and suspiciously well-toned individual entered, and he immediately felt himself groan internally. There was a certain way some patricians carried themselves- an inherent arrogance superiority and smugness that permeated their existence, declaring themselves above the common rabble that they were forced to rub shoulders with. It oozed out of this man, and even though Rafael had never seen him in his life, nor was he immediately familiar with the coat of arms stamped onto his cufflinks, he could already tell this was not about to be a pleasant meeting.

"Greetings." The man had a baritone that rumbled through a room, with the harshness of a patrician who'd been smoking long enough for it to have an effect, but not so long they had needed rejuvenation treatments. "Señor Antonio de Severino Manuel José de la Cruz de Lebrón. I hear you're the man to come to when it comes to getting the proper information regarding the nations we conduct diplomacy with yes? More than the trite tat I get handed every day by lackies looking to impress."

And just like that, Rafael's expectations were shattered.

"One could certainly put it like that, I suppose, yes. What may I help you with?" Mendoza pulled up the search function of his datasheet, and indicated towards the chair that sat in front of his desk.

"I prefer to stand," said the patrician with a shake of his head. "I need everything we have on the 'Hyginians' and these new 'Summation' fellows. I'm supposed to be attending a meeting with the lot of them over in the station we purchased for some unfathomable reason, and nobody's given me a straight answer regarding any of it. So. Everything, if you wouldn't mind."

Important IC Update!

Welcome to the post-PUNT world! The total time passed since the RP started in universe is now four years exactly (an indeterminate time for the lead-up to the war, the conclusion of the war in the summer of 2602, and a little under a year and a half to bring us to the current time,) and a year of the RP running (albeit with some... Disruptions,) which is incredibly exciting!

The new name of the game is an intergalactic Cold War, with the main factions of the Galactic Security Council, Multilateral Organisation Of Neutral States, the still as-of-yet unnamed Ishtar-Chosen Pact and the Interstellar League for Polysapient Prosperity which you can find more about, as always, on our still regularly active Discord and will see the introduction of new NPC nations, and a return to the nation-to-nation interaction where this RP really shines.

Thank you deeply to everyone who's stuck it out through this year, and here's to many more great words put to paper for Gateways!

In addition, I'm very happy to welcome our latest players to the game, @Eventua's Sevenfold Summation and Easifan Promise, @Lucidnonsense's Calypso Federation and @Apollo26's Gestalt Consciousness!
A War's End

A Treaty Signed

(A large-scale collaboration.)

It was a warm, clear day in Dercy, and among the ruins and rubble of a city that had withstood bombs from both orbit and air and brutal, hand-to-hand fighting, armies from across the galaxy now stood, their guns fallen silent.

The focus of the day was the hastily-erected stage, several flag posts raised behind it, with a small detachment of what was left of New Terra’s administration languishing in defeat, surrounded by a detachment of armed guards. Camera drones swarmed around the stage, trying to snatch a photo of victors and losers alike.

“Beautiful day for an unconditional surrender, isn’t it?” General Matías looked out over the assorted throngs before him. The city stunk of destruction and death- the rain a few days prior had come down black from smoke, leaving streaks of soot against faces and facades. No doubt it would continue to do so for quite some time; Dercy’s skyline looked less like that of a city, and more akin to a mouth full of broken teeth.

“Aye. Could have been much worse.” Almirante Isabella’s expression was stone-faced, not giving anything away. Their Triumph would come when they returned home- for now, it was time to share the glory. She scanned the other dignitaries and commanders on the stage.

The AFE’s delegation was perhaps the largest, at least in terms of variety -- the sheer variety of species that made up their impromptu gathering made representing every single one without crowding the stage impossible, but a great variety were represented, nonetheless.

At the head of the delegation was Strasbourg itself, the distributed AI that commanded the AFE’s fleets in the invasion; on this occasion, a comparatively mundane, humanoid shape, though clearly marked out as not baseline by its four arms and matte, metallic skin. It stood not at the head of the assembled AFE delegation, however, but beside one of the more perhaps expected participants: a tan-skinned, hooved, tauroid Takola male, dressed in the bright red-and-yellow cloth of the traditional dress of his people, and a large hydroponic rig, bearing a thick copse of beige-green motile grasses; one example of the sapient grasses the Terrans had enslaved, their species simply choosing to be dubbed the ‘People of the Plains’, as their language was impossible to verbally approximate.

Elsewhere among the delegation were the tall, spindly raptorial insects originally native to new Europa, and a duo of vaguely humanoid, mechanical forms, so heavily modified that it was difficult if not downright impossible to distinguish those humans from a purely artificial being.

Could have been better.Strasbourg whispered without moving its mouth, just loud enough for the other delegates to hear. It did nothing else other than scan over the Terrans with an icy glare, its implication clear: it’d be better with their leaders hanging from nooses.

“Then what.” Isabella raised an eyebrow towards the AI. Above them, the Escudo’s own ship mind was quietly contemplating the war in only the way a mind that was both not truly ‘intelligent,’ yet phenomenally more powerful than a human’s could. “Would you like us to fight guerrilla after guerrilla, each claiming that our executions were nothing more than a violation of their rights? Best to placate them now, save the steel fist for if it should be needed.”

“They would be given a fair trial, and dealt with appropriately. Those who would blame us for giving perpetrators of genocide their fair due are too far gone. At least, they should never again be permitted the light of day.”

Matías suppressed a barking laugh, managing to turn it into a cough. The hardened general had spent a long time away from the orderly halls of the Cortes. “And you think they’d care that we bothered to bring them before a judge before they swung? Take it from those who fight rebels- they are irrational peoples, prone to flights of fancy and martyrdom for no good cause. Besides… Thanks to some armies here, we’ve already lost plenty of officials to ‘accidents’ and ‘crossfire.’” His eyes skimmed across the Ishtari delegation.

The Ishtari delegation was a large one. Having formed the largest component of the ground forces that took part in planetary operations, the Ishtari brought a similarly impressive contingent with them now. Comprised of both civilian representatives from the affected areas of New Ishtar, as well as numerous commanding officers standing in full dress uniform, accompanied by representatives of the CNIN Marine Assault Infantry in full battle gear - though their rifles were left strapped to their backs and unloaded. Together they formed a curious rainbow array of colours and dimly glowing bioluminescence, watching the other delegations with an eclectic mixture of expressions. Some seemed wholly unreadable, others seemed simply relieved the war was over, others watched those around them with suspicion or anger, and others simply stared into the far distance.

Glowing irisless eyes met the Azulvistan General’s own as one of them, a Tiamat Strain, spoke. “Your insinuation is noted, General. However, the ground forces of Ishtar have provided ample documentation and evidence of the unfortunately unavoidable deaths of these individuals. A shame that it was not an official execution, for certainly the legal proceedings that await would find them worthy of death. We accept our own faults in the apprehending of these individuals, and will certainly work towards improving our protocols for the capture of wanted individuals in combat situations.”

She returned her hands to their folded position in front of her with an easy, gentle smile, “I am sure those who are present here will be more than suited to face full justice.”

“I would remind you that these prisoners are captives of Azulvista, and since we have all seen fit to conduct our own trials and abide by their decisions, you should perhaps consider your own insinuations.” Isabella eased her shoulders back a little as she spoke, her tone perfectly even and pleasant despite the implications.

As the generals and dignitaries of the other nations were doing their thing on Dercy, The Chosen agenda was getting more and more busy. Arrangements of the PUNT refugees to be settled on RAD-X002, the casualties suffered by the Chosen and hundred more small issues but that didn’t stop Ashevelen, Julius, William and Catherine to make an appearance on the planet itself. It was, after all, the first major galactic war and while it was pointless, it needed to end. This was the last thing that needed to be done to finally end it and enter a new era. A post-war era.

While knowing that her status as a Goddess was a sham and very badly seen by pretty much all the other nations, the Chosen, allies of Ishtar, had to make a proper entrance. One fit for a Goddess but also one that appealed to the others. As such, using all the data they could find about their counterparts, Ashevelen had the Chosen make a mix. A combination of the best, golden songs from each nation and something from Earth. Probably forgotten by everyone but the oldest.

As her dropship approached, the music started to blast. A military parade song for Azulvista, some Trailerhead for Tiamat’s people and a number of other songs played in succession for each nation present. Then and only after the music ended, the dropship landed and the Chosen made their entrance.

Julius walked forward, acting as a human meat shield, their armour golden shining in the sun of Dercy. Ashevelen followed up after him, dressed in similar fashion with a golden robe and a perfect smile on her face. Catherine and William walked side by side behind the Goddess, checking every face in the crowd for threats while keeping a friendly demeanour.

Ashevelen walked straight to the Tiamat strain who was in conversation with two others and gave her a smile.

Greetings generals. Tiamat strain, you seem to be in trouble. I’m assuming, your leader was somehow too preoccupied with other problems? ”, Ashevelen said with a smile before turning to the other two, towering over the Azulvista’s general, bending slightly and offering her hand to shake.

It may have been Matías that Ashvelen’s hand reached out towards, but it was Isabella who reached for it. Azulvistan politics were complex at the best of times, and war was hardly the best of times, and although most of the time the Navy and the Army worked smoothly together, there was a pecking order here that superseded age and rank.

For her part, Isabella’s face was impassive and neutral. Here she was, face to face with a human that had reforged themselves into a deity, and all she could think about was the fact that a dozen camera drones had descended on the group to capture this historic moment. Shifting to the side for a better angle, she shook Ashvelen’s hand firmly, then took a disciplined step back into line.

Strasbourg simply watched Ashevelen with an expression approaching cold disdain - not only someone claiming dictatorial domain over their people, but one who did so with pomp and circumstance. Still, its expression conveyed mute tolerance, at least, whereas the Azulvistan delegation was treated with more appropriately open dislike.

The Hyginian delegation was much smaller compared to the AFE’s mix of aliens, Ishtari crowd or the Chosen display of music and colours, despite this the presence of both Star Admiral was proof enough of the importance Hyginus put on the meeting, among them were diplomats, generals and various assistants.

The Chosen arrival would make quite the impression, with their display of music and military while under the sun being a sight never seen on Hyginus. Avetien, the second SA, would welcome the Chosen delegates shortly before looking back at the parade, Reecka however welcomed Ashevelen and gestured her to join in, hoping to ease the tension between her and the other delegations.

“Is everyone prepared then? I believe we are here to end a war, rather than pose for photos.”

"We'd almost forgotten," Strasbourg dryly joked, straightening itself. "But, yes, let us get on with business."

“The fine engineering of your nation on display” Matías retorted with a wry expression, before the pair of patricians instinctively slipped into more diplomatic stances.

“We are here today, August 18th, 2602 UST Earth, to bear witness to the signing of the Instrument of Unconditional Surrender of the People’s Union of New Terra, and the formal dissolution of the aforementioned state as a consequence of that treaty.” An aide set a document out in front of PUNT’s Chief of Army- the third one in as many months, if Isabella’s memory was correct, alongside a pen. The official didn’t bother to read through the document in detail- its drafting and the fact that PUNT would agree to all the terms was a foregone conclusion. Instead, he turned to the fifth and final page, sighed heavily, and brought nib to paper.

A quick scrawl later, and he slid the document across to the man next to him, who did much the same, and then the third PUNT official filled in the final line for the PUNT side. Army, navy and civilian government, all now gone with the swipe of a pen. An absolute surrender in every meaning of the word.

Isabella and Matías stepped up next- these were their prisoners, and they’d insisted on the honour of accepting the surrender first. Taking the pen off the last official, Isabella first signed, and then as Matías did the same, the aide passed over a small pot of melted wax, which the admiral carefully poured out, then lifted out a golden seal delivered direct from the highest office of the Senate for exactly this purpose. One firm press, and the Gran Republic’s presidential seal now adorned the paper, the two Azulvistans stepping aside for the rest of the nation’s representatives to sign.

The document then passed to the Hyginians who, despite helping on multiple fronts, didn’t ask to occupy any land or extreme concessions, limiting themselves to just economic reparations. First Star Admiral Reecka signed first, fittingly, after giving a quick read but not bothering to read the whole document, then to Avetien who, looking at the defeated Terrans with a slight smile, signed and then stamped the Federation’s official sigil. For a moment Avetien looked for the second document, a copy perhaps, as was Hyginian custom, then realising and passing the papers to the next representatives.

The Americanan delegation, like their Hyginian counterparts, was a rather small group, their contribution in the invasion was token at best compared to other members of the coalition, the 3rd Expeditionary providing whatever support it could during the campaign, unlike the others, they did not plan on an occupation, as the resources for such an endeavour would prove…. difficult for the current war effort against the Yulzan. Admiral Drayk, along with his top officers were to serve as the FRA’s face in the signing of the Treaty. He took the documents in stride as he made a cursory look, and signed it. It was a good feeling, helping to put an end to a war, something he’d thought would never happen in his life time, and yet, here he was. Hopefully someday this can be repeated on Columbia soon enough, when the Americana System will be made whole again. Once the document was signed, Drayk hand it over to the next representative.

It was a custom that the AFE representatives followed -- though they weren't the ones to sign the surrender document. Rather, the Bludians signed the documents under the approving gaze of the Europeans, the Person of the Grass directing its counterpart through a specialised implant designed to transform its thoughts into audible words, its signature likewise a completely alien collection of lines and symbols. Only then did the Europeans themselves move to sign, the disgust they felt for the Terran generals so palpable it could be cut with a knife.

Bringing an end to the procession of allied forces, the Ishtari delegation’s representative stepped forward. Sister-General 1-430 Ivaris Wields the Flaming Sword of Righteous Fury Against the Demons of the Night stood in full regalia, flanked by representatives of the nuclear-impacted world and by veteran soldiers from the conflict. She stood over the former New Terran general, looking down on him with a haughty, imperious sneer, before taking the pen in hand and signing her own name with a flourish. The civilian representative, clad in less overt attire, did much the same, visibly restraining an urge to say something in the process. The Ishtar delegation as a whole seemed to relax just a hair afterwards as the representatives returned to their ranks. This war, at least, was over.

There was only one thing left to do. The various dignitaries turned to the back of the stage, various soldiers moving to each of the flag posts that had been set up for just this purpose. To the sonorous sound of a bugle, the flag of the People's Union was lowered for the final time, and in its place went up the new flags- of the occupations, of free Bludia, of the future.

Isabella turned and looked at the rest of the delegations. Here they stood as allies- as members of a Coalition that had seen millions dead in order to bring down a regime of madness. It would not last. It could not last. When the bugle finally fell silent, they were allies no longer.

The galaxy had been thrown into disarray. Now it was time to reforge it.
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