¶ Glorg Alliance
Clerks of Confusion. Heralds of the Stamp. Wielders of the Incomplete Checklist.
Slogan: "Together, we are stronger. Also, here's a pamphlet."
Unofficial Slogan: "Order, unity, and paperwork — mostly paperwork."
Motive: To bring all factions under the Glorg banner in the name of unity, harmony, and a single, very long constitution. Preferably signed in triplicate
Unofficial Mascot: A smiling customs officer giving a thumbs-up while confiscating someone's exotic space fruit.
¶ Overview
The Glorg Alliance is a vast interplanetary federation dedicated to peace, prosperity, and making sure everyone fills out Form 47B/12 before engaging in either. It's less a political movement and more a bureaucratic gravitational field — anything that comes near is slowly, inevitably pulled in, stamped, and given a lanyard.
Their official banner features a majestic eagle perched atop a stack of legislation, all beneath the word "GLORG" in bold, bureaucratic font. It's unclear what "GLORG" stands for. It might be an acronym. It might be the name of the founder. It might be the sound you make after attending one of their annual compliance symposiums.
The Glorg Alliance believes in order above all things — political, economic, theological if necessary. They view independent systems like Calad Bar as quaint, possibly dangerous, and definitely in need of mandatory cultural integration.
They are not cruel, merely intensely enthusiastic about your compliance.
¶ Consul
Consul Petronella P. Snivvleton is the Glorg Alliance's most fearsome weapon of diplomacy: an elderly Hadozee with a doily-based death stare, a teacup of weaponised civility, and a bureaucratic will strong enough to crush empires under floral stationery.
Draped in medals and lace, she rules her porcelain kitten-lined office with unyielding decorum, issuing threats so polite they should be illegal (and probably are somewhere). A bard of eloquence and low-key divine order, she believes in annexation through pastries, passive-aggression through protocol, and justice served with jam. She doesn't conquer. She incorporates — over tea.
Refuse a biscuit, and you may find yourself diplomatically absorbed before the saucer cools.
