The
Chanal II broke through the skies with a disruptive boom, slowing down as the Austreosian coast came into view below. She was the second plane in the fleet of transport vehicles available to the Speakership of Ahkabnil, a supersonic business jet, only carrying a mere 14 passengers but enough for circumstances such as this. Chanal II would be diving from the skies into the recovering warzone that was Austreos, a country whose face was littered with the scars of war. Ofcourse, the Ahkabnilian Condor didn’t swoop down until the fighting was over, observing the players and plotting future moves carefully.
As Osovo International came into view, so did its burning city, emerging from curtain of dark, choking dust, with its deprived and venerable towers, stained grey from the shadow of the gloomy, smoke filled skies. Hues of orange and yellow dance in the fog, indicating distant fires that the smoke bellowed from. Ambassador Kutaneh glared out the window with his usual, expressionless face. He was expecting this, but aide and protege Wasyiel wasn’t, though he had been brief. “Isn’t it safe?” he said with an anxious whisper.
Kutaneh smiled, as he could hear the nervous lump in Wasyiel’s voice, “Perhaps. Diplomacy is never a clean matter, you should get use to this.” he advised, reverting his eyes back down to his tablet, scrolling through diplomatic briefs. “You wanted field work, this is it, no more petty embassy bookkeeping.”
Kutaneh thought of Wasyiel as a son, after all these years. He also knew the High Circle wanted Wasyiel out, his family wasn’t liked and percieved as radical, even though Wasyiel wasn’t like them they couldn’t see the forest for the trees. The man was trying to clear his tarnished name within the Temple, and Kutaneh understood that as he was in the same position, coming from a political line of jokes and failed statesmen.
Chanal II was making its slow and steady approach to the torn runway of Osovo international. Attempting to touch down gently upon the cracked runway. The plane shook slightly and the pilots struggled with the waning rudder. Finally Chanal II had come to the slow, yet bumpy halt, at this point even Kutaneh’s heat was beating out of chest, he had never liked flying but didn’t let it show. “It seems out greeting party is here.” Wasyiel said, observing the waiting party on the tarmac. “This place is a hellhole.” he sighed, as the cabin door slowly curled open.
“Indeed.” Kutaneh agreed, beginning to walk down to greet the welcoming party, though it was not so warm...