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Rubano Malijin

"Through power, victory."

0 · 1,198 views · located in Parliament's Chambers

a character in “The Multiverse”, as played by Nemo

Description

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The Honorable Rubano Malijin, Terran Parliament Chairman

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Age: Mid-late 30's
Height: 6' 5"
Weight: 210 lbs
Physique: Mesomorphic, Muscular
Eye Color: Black
Nationality: Terran
Occupation: Parliament Chairman

Rubano hails from Hafirjan, representing many of the Eastern/Central countries such as Tanzania, Uganda, and the Congo. A popular politician and likeable celebrity, Rubano is known for his charismatic persona, strong intellect and good-natured sense of humor. He demonstrates a deep sense of patriotism and loyalty toward Terra, and a passionate determination to maintain her sovereignty. Despite his strong support for Terran independence, Rubano often advocates for bills that grant more privileges and authorities to the TNG, claiming that only a "powerful government" can be a strong one. A decisive leader and influential speaker, Rubano is the creator of the 'Xenia Compromise', the foreign garrison charter that Terra uses today.


Rubano graduated from Makerere University with a bachelor's in intergalactic business and a master's in political science. He took a year for himself after he graduated, travelling across Terra and giving his time and money to many respected global charity organizations. When he returned to Kampala, his family's influence and personal connections with his former university allowed him to quickly procure a position at Makerere as a professor of political science and Director of Admissions. He worked there for two years and was well-liked among his students and colleagues, despite his notoriously strict classroom etiquette and extreme lack of tolerance for tomfoolery and academic dishonesty. After exposing an embezzling scandal perpetuated by the university's president, Rubano was promoted by the school board to Dean of Humanities and Social Sciences. After three more years of diligent and prosperous work, Rubano was appointed the president of Makerere University.

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Four years later, Rubano was offered a position as an assistant to the Ugandan Minister of Foreign Affairs. He worked with the ministry for two years, during which time he famously negotiated the release of over a hundred captured civilians from the hands of Tanzanian rebels. Using his generous wealth, Rubano also personally financed the reconstruction of several war-torn Ugandan neighborhoods. His efforts won him the Confederate Humanitarian Award and the Union Crest of Courage. Despite his relatively meager political function, Malijin had become one of this most popular politicians of the time. His fame quickly prompted presidential-hopeful Gwandoya Balondemu to elect Malijin as his running mate. When Balondemu won, Rubano became Vice President of Uganda.


Rubano spent the next four years serving the people of Uganda, using his new-found political freedoms to endorse a series of economic reforms and military expansion projects. His illustrious history, handsome person, convincing speeches and ultimately effective fiscal amendments garnered enormous support for both himself and Balondemu. Unfortunately, Balondemu would be mysteriously assassinated by Ugandan rebels in his own office one year before the end of his term. Though grieved over the loss of his friend and colleague, Rubano assumed the presidency, focusing the country's funds towards public relief efforts as well as spearheading Ugandan military efforts in ousting several rebel factions. Despite his enormous public approval, Malijin refused to run for office after his term had ended, still crestfallen over the loss of Gwandoya.


Rubano took another year off, this time travelling to other central Hafirjan countries such as Congo, Kenya, Egypt and Ethiopia. He continued his humanitarian endeavors, overseeing the construction of new homes, work places, hospitals and cultural centerpieces. He heavily endorsed anti-rebel movements and worked closely with expulsion activists, learning a good deal about military logistics and battle tactics from a myriad of different generals and commanders. He famously lead Rwandan armed forces in the Battle of Ndogo Mlima, literally charging into the fray alongside the 6th battalion and defeating the kambamti insurrectionist movement in open combat. He received the Rwandan Medal of Honor for his valor and bravery. All of this, of course, reached the ears of the Hafirjan public via media networks. Malijin's popularity was at an all time high.


When the Terran National Government assumed power and ask for Parliamentary representation from Hafirjan, Malijin submitted his candidacy. He won the election in a momentous landslide.

---

So begins...

Rubano Malijin's Story

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#, as written by Nemo
"Not defeated, Sire," Rubano shook his head, "but well on their way, I assure you." A short sip of his wine before another dazzling smile. "...no thanks to the efforts of the Taiyou or the Aschen, of course."

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#, as written by Nemo
"I can see your point, Sire," Rubano nodded, "but you have to understand how devoutly religious and traditional Hataf is. I doubt they'd just pack up and move from the very planet they found their roots on... much as the whole of the TNG wish they would do so..."

"Nonetheless, Sire, I see that our time has exhausted. It's been a remarkably pleasant interview, but you -did- come without an appointment, and I'm afraid I have another meeting in fifteen minutes or so," Rubano smiled again, "...by the by... how's our friend Marlene Angel doing these days? I understand she's not welcome on Terran soil at this particular moment considering her termination with the NPA and defection to the LDA." The minister raised an eyebrow. "...you can imagine my suprise when NPA agents presented me with Gambit's video evidence of her presence on Terra."

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#, as written by Nemo
"Well I assure you, Sire," Rubano called after him, just loud enough to be audible, "that I have no intention of doing anything that might jeapordize Terra's sovereignty..."

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#, as written by Nemo
Rubano Malijin stood in the center of the government center, his hands folded as he watched Raphael and the Aschen soldiers enter. A grim expression was on his face.

"Emperor McGregor," the broad-shouldered politician's voice carried well even amid the hard-leather boots of marching Aschen troops across the marble floors of the Government Center, "you look... well..." He smiled grandly, though the intent behind his expression was interpretable at best. All around the Government Center, employees were hard at work, packing up their belongings and riffling through folders as they prepared to head out of their cherished workplace.

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#, as written by Nemo
Rubano Malijin had to refrain from rolling his eyes. This was ridiculous... a god king? Was Raphael as mad as he was powerful?

"I bow to your authority, Emperor," Rubano bowed respectfully at the waste, "you must forgive me if I do not kneel. I have a bad knee that I would rather not upset." He smiled again, his teeth flashing as he met Raphael's possessed gaze with effortless venom. "I welcome you to the Terran Government Center, one of the finest examples of our planet's cultural architecture and pristine planetary beauty." He gestured to a long, gold-glittered hallway. "Perhaps you would like a tour?"

Most of the surrounding workers fought to ignore Raphael. Many of them noticeably moved away from him as he drew closer. Something about McGregor was simply... unsettling.

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#, as written by Nemo
Rubano Malijin stood firm for a moment, his eyes wide with fury as he felt the full force of Raphael's twisted energies push against his hamstrings. The minister's legs hit the ground a moment later, his knees slamming into the marble. Still... something had been a bit odd about the whole exchange. Rubano's reaction to McGregor's attack had been... late.

"Please, god-emperor," Rubano managed through grit teeth, pain evident in his voice, "there is no need for violence. The rebels are fled, and Terra is already yours." He gestured to their surroundings, drawing Raphael's attention to the masterfully crafted marble pillars... moorish ceilings... jewel-encrusted artifacts...

"This building is a magnificent place, emperor," Rubano implored Raphael, "is there really a need to tear it down? The Terran people adore the Government Center."

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#, as written by Nemo
Rubano Malijin walked alongside Raphael, listening carefully as he masterfully concealed his seething rage. Rubano was far from pleased with Emperor McGregor, but he was certainly smart enough not to show it.

"My only desire is that Terra should retain as much sovereignty as she can," Rubano nodded, his voice calm and articulate, "under your leadership, emperor, I hope the people of Terra may prosper and grow." He cleared his throat as they ascended through the grand hallways of the Government Center, the troopers close behind them.

"...there are some things you should know, emperor, if you have not already heard," the minister continued, "many of our own have fled with the Terran rebels, including the vast majority of our military force and our recently-bolstered space navy. All of the Tetris division is gone, as well as many civilians and politicians who formerly took up residency here as ministers." Rubano's eyes darkened at the mention of Drulovic. "And yes, the former TIB Director has stayed with the planet. She will certainly not surrender her authority to you willingly. Aside from her, most of the TIB and NPA leaders remain on Terra, as well as Cleo Eriaji and a fraction of the 'Nova' Research Division."

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#, as written by Nemo
"Doctor Eriaji does remain with the TNG, and is willing to negotiate with the Aschen leaders," Rubano nodded, "he is in Fort Veritas at the moment, I believe. Preparing the base for your arrival, no doubt." Malijin didn't mention the reason WHY Cleo had chosen to stay on-world, of course. The Tuffle's presence on Terra stemmed more from a steadfast loyalty to Terra and her people then it did from a love for the Aschen Empire.

"All of this is well and good, emperor," Rubano nodded in satisfaction at the mention of increased planetary defenses for Terra; though he shifted a bit at the mention of Drulovic's impending execution. "...while, I respect every decision that you make, god-emperor; as a Terran native, I must advise against executing former director madame Drulovic. Even with the recent scandal uncovered about her former crimes and her expulsion from the TIB, she still retains a considerably large ammount of popularity with the Terran people. Killing her so soon would not be wise. It would be best if we could convince her to sway under your authority." Rubano nodded slowly. "I speak as your humble advisor, of course."

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#, as written by Nemo
Rubano Malijin bowed lowly. "Only to remain here so I may further orchestrate the evecuation of the Government Center. I thank you for your time, emperor."

The setting changes from Government Center to Gambit's Bar

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#, as written by Nemo
Inviere would arrive to a scene of controlled chaos. The Government Center, once a shining paragon of Terran architecture and cultural beauty, and had been reduced to a lowly prison during the days of the Occupation. It had been under re-construction for the last month, but there obviously still a ways to go.

A squad of Aschen footsoldiers and workers would likely be stationed outside the Government Center, unable to enter the building on account of a wall of Terran civilians and politicians blocking the entrance to the Center. Terran Marines were stationed around the building but neither aided the civilians nor the Aschen.

As Inviere approached, Rubano Malijin would walk over to greet the woman. His dress shirt was rolled at the sleeves, his tie hanging loosely from his neck.

"Ah, Admiral," he smiled faintly, his strong jaw clenched, "I am glad you arrived so quickly. I am afraid we have a bit of a dilemma on our hands." He gestured towards the Aschen personnel unable to access the GC and the wall of jeering citizens blockading them. "Your soldiers attempted to enter our Government Center thirty minutes ago. They've been expelled and denied entry by local citizens and workers. You must understand, the Terrans regard the Government Center as something of 'holy ground.' The do not want your Imperials desecrating the place."

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#, as written by Nemo
"Now hold on just a minute, Admiral," Rubano stepped forward, a stern look on his face, "just what do you think you're doing? This is NOT the way to handle this situation. We can achieve a compromise. Forcibly removing the civilians is not the answer to this problem. Order your men to desist, please. We can resolve this in a civilized manner."

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#, as written by Nemo
"Now hold on just a minute, Admiral," Rubano stepped forward, a stern look on his face, "just what do you think you're doing? This is NOT the way to handle this situation. We can achieve a compromise. Forcibly removing the civilians is not the answer to this problem. Order your men to desist, please. We can resolve this in a civilized manner."

Several marines, meanwhile, took up positions among the civilians.

"You touch these guys you answer to us!" they growled, unslinging their gauss rifles but not taking a mark.

The civilians, meanwhile, continued to jeer, clearly unwilling to let the Aschen into the Government Center.

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#, as written by Nemo
"Simple, Admiral," Rubano tried to remain calm, clearly exasperated, "simply allow the Terran people to remove the Aschen equipment from the Government Center. You can have your toys for half the work and the Terrans are allowed to honor the sanctity of their palace." He rolled his sleeves again. "...not to mention that no one gets killed and plunges our nations into war."

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#, as written by Nemo
"We FOUGHT for our freedom, Admiral," Rubano managed to refrain from growling, "we BEAT the Aschen out of our planet. You give us nothing out of your own authority. We ALLOW you to give. Now please refrain from ending this truce on account of your own arroga-"

The setting changes from Gambit's Bar to Wing City

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#, as written by Nemo
Rubano Malijin sat in one of the few re-furnished rooms of the Terran Government Center. The Center, once a shining paragon of Terran architecture and cultural beauty, had suffered some major blows during the war. Repairs were being done to it at all times. Although the room was mostly sound-proof, the ringing of plasma-saws and rapping of hammers still pervaded slightly.

A large conference table was in the middle of the room. Rubano sat at the head, his chair slightly taller then the others. Two Terran marines stood guard outside.

The politician was numbly looking over some paperwork, briefly checking his watch. He was expecting two business representatives any time now...

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#, as written by Nemo
"Ms. Tremain. Mr. Malachite. Please, come in!" Rubano's smile was grand, his deep voice kind and oiled. He stepped forward quickly, offering a brawny hand to each of the two representatives. "I welcome you on behalf of the Terran National Government. Thank you for coming to this meeting." He gestured towards the soft leather seats. Water and various fruits were on the table. "Please. Sit."

Once they were seated, Rubano would fold his hands, looking between each of them warmly. "Once again, I thank you for coming on such short notice. I know the aftermath of the war has put us all in difficult situations." He cleared his throat. "I apologize for not giving you much information as to why I called you here." He grinned. "...I am curious, though. You must forgive my antics for a moment, as I simply must ask... why do YOU think you're here?"

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"You're both correct," Rubano smiled, "the TNG has been doing extensive reconstruction work since the war. Our humanitarian efforts are working round the clock. I daresay we've done a good job." He straightened his tie. "But of course, there are other problems to be dealt with. While our soldiers are out distributing food and medicine, our borders and cities are unguarded. Our funds are depleting rapidly, and our supplies are diminishing quickly. We need a strong economic partner and a reliable line of basic military defense."

He grinned. "That would be where you two come in." He looked towards Lyrah. "How about you, miss? If the TNG was interested in contracting your drones for defensive purposes, which model would you recommend to us? I ask that you try and be friscal. The government treasury has its limits."

He turned to look at David. "And you, sir? I don't suppose Mars Corps is in the business of selling weapons and soldiers?"

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#, as written by Nemo
"Very impressive Ms. Tremain," Rubano eyed the hologram with wide-eyes. He looked curiously over at David. Time for a little friendly competition. "I'm sure this would be of great use to the TNG."

"Mr. Malachite, defense is not the primary necessity that the TNG would ask of Mars Corps... but what Ms. Tremain has shown us here is quite extraordinary." He reclined in his seat. "You said your own drones were just as good, no? Are you willing to stand behind that claim?"

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#, as written by Nemo
"Exceptional," Rubano folded his hands together, clearly pleased, "I believe Ms. Tremain's models are a bit more practical and versatile, but I DO like the size of yours, Mr. Malachite. Something about a behemoth just exudes raw power." He chuckled. "I rather like power. Anyway, this has been a remarkable demonstration." He turned to Lyrah. "Ms. Tremain, the Terran National Government would be very interested in settling a contract with you, preferably for your CROSS and RAGE units. The STAR was impressive, but we're looking for something a bit larger to field in battle. Does that sound agreeable?"

He turned to Malachite. "That said, sir, we'd also be quite interesting in purchasing one of your own ships. Not too many. Perhaps three or four. Would you be interested in a contract for that as well?"

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#, as written by Nemo
Rubano smiled. "Ms. Tremain, my office is prepared to offer you a five million credit down-payment on the first shipment of drones. Provided you allow us a basic inspection and assessment, I don't think we should have a problem. We could sign the papers right now, if you like."

Malijin turned back to David. "I'm afraid another planetary ring is not in our agenda right now, Mr. Malachite." He smiled. "That said, I have another business proposition for you." The politician reached into his file folder, laying out a series of coorporation grants and factory deeds. "As you are aware, the war has done a number on the Terran economy. Many factories and producers that previously thrived are now completely run-down." He gestured to the deeds. "We'd like to ask Mars Corps to assume command of many of these plants. Get the economy flowing. Provide jobs for many Terrans. Does that sound agreeable to you?"

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"I'd give deployment bias to the CROSS units," Rubano nodded, "we need soldiers more then turrets right about now. The major threats are within the planet, not outside."

He looked back towards David. "This contract is set on a standard of quota, not time. Once you've returned the factories to their original level of productivity, you are free to sell them back to whomever you wish. The idea is to boost the economy and make a profit while you're at it. Given Mars Corps historical financial success, I imagine you'd only have the factories for a month before they begin pumping full-steam once more."

He clapped his hands together, smiling grandly. "I'm happy we've all reached agreements here. I'm sure Terra will prosper under these relationships."

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#, as written by Nemo
"Thank you, Ms. Tremain," he shook her hand, "you are free to go. I look forward to seeing you again soon."

Rubano looked back towards David as he entered once more. "Of course, Mr. Malachite," Rubano nodded, "I hope everything's alright?" He was, of course, completely unaware as to who David had just spoken to.

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"That's the idea, Mr. Malachite," Rubano smiled, "We'll get all the details figured out later. The important thing is that you're on board." He offered his hands to the man. "The TNG and Mars Corps are now official business partners."

The setting changes from Wing City to Terra

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Character Portrait: Terran Space Navy Character Portrait: Mafsha Sandrunner Character Portrait: Rubano Malijin Character Portrait: Sheodin Thundermane Character Portrait: The Khroniktan Alliance Fleet Character Portrait: King Neodin Shadowslayer
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"We were, King Shadowslayer," Aaron commed back, "a bloody, costly war with a foe that desired our planet and our freedom." He turned towards his own bridge-window, admiring his homeworld quietly. "We 'won', technically. Sometimes it doesn't feel that way."

A technician spoke up quickly. "Sir, we have clearance for landing in the Wing City Spaceport."

"Copy that," Vrail nodded, quickly comming back to Neodin, "King Shadowslayer, we are now going to descend into Wing City, the capital of the Terran National Government and one of the largest cities on our planet. I'll send you the coordinates. Just stay on our tail."

He looked back towards the technician. "Take us down."

“Is there ever truly a victor in war? There are those that survive, and those that perish. The similarity between our peoples is that we fight not to assert our dominance, but because we must. We fight so that previous battles were not in vain. We fight for survival – and to honor the spilled blood of our kin.” Replied the Aryite. “I will organize our landing party, Captain.”

The massive crystalline careened into orbit around the planet. Cosmic and arcane energy surged across their surfaces, forming pinpoints of light that pulsated and rippled like waves on a golden sea. From the pinpoints emerged a dozen smaller vessels that were crafted from the same crystalline material. They rivaled the Terran vessels in size, but bore rectangular or diamond-like shapes.

Inside the vessels were primarily crates of cargo – exotic fruits, meats, cheeses, furs, and ornately crafted jewels and other trinkets. However, some of the ships were filled with security personnel. Protecting the line of rectangular Galley transports were flanking rows of diamond Trireme Fortresses. Evenly spaced, the caravan followed behind the Terran vessels.

The formation descended slowly upon the Terran capital, the glittering ships passing quickly through the planet's atmosphere and passing into the city below. An ocean of buildings greeted them swiftly, the Terran populace teeming with life just below.
The Triremes would lead the vessels to a large spaceport some miles away and would direct them to a designated landing dock. Upon landing and exiting their ships, the first Aryite diplomats would be greeted by a series of Terran politicians flanked by marines.

The ships glided through the planet’s atmosphere. Despite the terrible friction, the Khroniktan vessels remained unfazed as if unaffected by the mundane laws of Existence. Their crystalline hulls retained their glowing golden hue as they floated over the city. As the Galleys descended to their designated landing zones, the Triremes remained in aloft like guardian angels over their earthbound cousins. They took defensive positions around the station – passive yet alert.

A single vessel diverged itself from the herd and landed where the flock of politicians had amassed. It landed with the broadside facing the welcoming party. The vessel hovered above the ground instead of landing directly onto the pavement. A moment passed before the side of the ship resonated with swirling light.

From the light emerged several pairs of armored feet. Gallant figures clad in golden plate exited from the light. An aura of mystical holy energy surrounded them. They towered head and shoulders above the Terrans and where two or three times their girth. Sheathed on their backs were large broadswords, shields, maces, and bows. Fur, ranging from a glossy black to a pale yellow, covered them where their bodies were exposed. The fur that adorned their feline-like faces and heads were neatly trimmed, tied back, or formed into dreadlocks. Other manes were gray and thinned. Large banners, bearing their gold and red standard, were gripped in the gauntlets of the two front Aryites.

The armor-clad lion-men marched lockstep to a rigid rhythm of snares, toms, and bass. However, none of the Aryite Chosen wielded any instruments among their arms. It was as if the cadence resonated from the air itself, or an invisible orchestra of spirits had materialized to guide the holy warriors. Two columns of ten marched with five paces between them.

Shemot!... Imaki!... Shemo’ imak’ shemot!” barked one of the Aryites in sync with the cadence.

Magtzeer!” he shouted. The columns and marching beat ceased at the order. “Lehuka nazeh makedat!” As one, the two lines pivoted inward and stood rigid with soldierly discipline.

Ledaha!” The soldiers, in a robotic sync, stretched their gauntleted paw-hands behind their backs and unsheathed their large broadswords. Their blades resonated with runes of courage, righteousness, and virtue. They gripped the runeblades in both hands and placed the tips against the ground.

Another figure emerged from the ship. He was wrapped in long flowing robes that just barely covered the being’s clawed, paw-like bare feet. A long furred tail swayed along the ground. Short golden brown fur covered the being’s body large and muscled body. King Neodin Shadowslayer stood two heads above the other Aryites, and towered at twice the height of the Terrans. Like a shining waterfall, a golden brown mane surrounded a fierce yet noble feline-like face and flowed down his shoulders and back. Strands of silver and gray intertwined with the golden brown. His eyes shone like two stars that illuminated an aura of great wisdom, power, nobility, virtue, and honor. A massive broadsword, jagged and covered in glowing runes, rested in his paw-like hands. He gripped the hilt and held it like a cane with the point facing downward.

As he walked down the aisle between the columns, the Aryite Chosen lowered to their knees and bowed their heads in deep reverence to their King and High Priest.

Following Neodin came another figure. Sheodin Thundermane stood just a hair taller than his brother. Azure and silver robes flowed across a body which was covered in auburn fur that contained traces of silver, gray, and white. A long silver mane flowed across his shoulders and upper back as his eyes, filled with an ancient power and wisdom, looked at the Terran convoy. An aura of ancientness, authority, and incredible power resonated from him, much like the king. Yet his was much more cosmic and arcane in nature. A long furred tail swung behind him. In his paw-like hand he gripped the handle of an enormous mallet in the same fashion as his brother. The neck and handle appeared to be constructed from a strong polished stone. Runes covered the neck that lead to the crystalline head, blue as the deepest sea, which reverberated with a low hum.

"King Shadowslayer," a large, African-looking gentleman stepped forward, offering the Aryite his hand. "I am Parliament Chairman Rubano Malijin. It is my esteemed honor to welcome you to our humble planet." His smile was deep and disarming, his coal black eyes welcoming and inviting. "We have a transport waiting for you. It would be our honor to escort you into the hub of political activity here in Terra: our Government Center."

“Shuyamb.” rumbled the Aryite king. His voice was strong, deep, guttural, intelligent, yet gentle, kind, and diplomatically reserved. He brought a clenched paw-fist to his chest with a dull thud. “Greetings, noble leaders of Terra. I bring signs of kinship, peace, and prosperity from the free peoples of Khroniktus. We come in the name of righteousness, honor, and brotherhood. Among our cargo ships we carry exotic gifts of furs, fruits, meats, cheeses, clothing, jewels, and strong drink. Bring us your weary, so we may feed them. Bring us your sick, maimed, and wounded, and let us heal them. Bring us your homeless, so we may clothe and minister to them. Let us break bread and share knowledge, so both our futures may be brighter in the sight of Leolik."

Rubano indeed appeared quite taken back. Diplomacy certainly didn't work like this anymore.

"You honor us with your gifts, King Shadowslayer," the Parliament Chairman was quick to recover, "and we accept them graciously and humbly." A skilled diplomat, Rubano knew better then decline the charity of a possible ally. "It shall be our pleasure to return your generosity with prudent hospitality. I pray you, come with us to our Government Center. Let us make parley after we have eased your journey's weariness from your shoulders."

Neodin nodded to the man and turned to the other tall Aryite. “Brother.” He clasped his hand over Sheodin’s shoulder. “I ask you to remain here and organize the unloading of the Galleys. Ensure the clerics are supplied with Spells of Tongues, so they may communicate with the Terrans.

“Aye.” Replied the Arch-mage. He then turned and dismissed the procession. “Captain Sandrunner! Go and locate your uncle from the tavern that you spoke of. I will be there shortly.” One of the soldiers gave a quick nod to Sheodin and ran off.

As Neodin and two Chosen followed the Terran diplomats, the dozen other vessels began to unload with a variety of creatures carrying large crates. Among the Aryites were shorter avian beings that squatted a foot shorter than the humans. They were clad in leather and cloth garments and carried long staffs and composite bows. Large bipedal constructs, formed from massive floating crystals that radiated with arcane energy, also aided the Khroniktans in unpacking the caravan. Within minutes, a makeshift marketplace had taken form outside the station.

The setting changes from Terra to The 'RIP'

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Character Portrait: Rubano Malijin
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#, as written by Nemo
Rubano Malijin was just exiting one of the transports, talking with TNG politican David Walker as they approached the Gala. The handsome Parliament Chairman was dressed in a thick tuxedo, his hand wrapped around an ebony cane that he used to help him walk.

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