Prologue: The Council of Nolwë Osto - Completed

days before the Council of Nolwë Osto
on the island of Erlingsson

“Captain Boyd Waters!” A huge burly pirate shouted upon entering the tavern. His head was bald, and his face was covered in a dreaded beard. He had large, hairy arms and hands, and in one, he swung a giant scimitar as he thrashed his way through the establishment.

“BOYD WATERS!” The man screamed again, silencing the rest of the patrons who were now interested in what was happening. He followed a few stares towards the bar where the Captain of Her Sanzunetta tal-Saħarset sat, seemingly oblivious to the madman.

“BOYD, YOU SON OF A BITCH!” The large man spat harshly as he stopped several feet from the bar. The other vermin sitting on either side of Boyd slowly slid away from him, leaving the pirate captain locked in the larger man’s sights.

“Look at me, you piss-stain! You know what you did!” The man yelled.

Sluurrrp! Boyd sipped his brew nonchalantly.

“You slept with my woman, you bastard!”

“He’s an animal… He calls me names and beats me.” A young, pretty blond explained. “When he’s not belittling me or hitting me, he’s off sleeping with whores!”

“Why not leave the bastard?” Boyd asked from where he sat on the bed beside her.

“He told me if I ever try, he’ll kill me, and I believe him. I’m terrified of him… I just want to be loved, to be held… to be called beautiful.” Her voice cracked a bit as she shed a single tear.

The pirate gently brushed the drop from where it had streamed to her cheek. “You’re gorgeous, Lass… Gorgeous.”

With that, he leaned in and kissed her…


“We did more than sleep, Mate! I can assure you that.” Boyd bragged with his back still to the man.

“DRAW YOUR BLADE, AND FACE ME, COWARD!” The large man screamed as he crashed his sword over a nearby table, sending two patrons diving out of the way.

Boyd slowly spun around in his stool, smirk gleaming, and when he came to, he did so with his pistol at the ready. With a trained hand and eye, he took aim. The hammer clapped, and a small cloud of gun smoke bellowed out.

The larger pirate went stiff before collapsing to the floor. Headshot.

There was brief moment of silence throughout the bar as death lingered in the air, but it quickly passed, and the patrons went back to their drinks and chatter as if nothing had happened.

“Ahem… Captain Waters.” A small, round, pegged legged older man chimed from just out of sight beside him.

Boyd turned to him from his stool.

“Lady Voras is ready to see you now. There is a carriage waiting outside.”


Lady Ada Voras was as sick and twisted as she was beautiful. Rumors said her lips were coated in one of Emoria’s deadliest poisons, and with a kiss she could take your life. Boyd hadn’t tested that story, and didn’t plan to. In his opinion she was likely the most cunning out of the Pirate Lords, maybe even out of all the pirates. She had claimed her position by murdering the last Lord of the Erlingsson Clan, her husband, and solidified the role by killing off his brother.

Ada was held up at a four storey manor at the center of her coast line city. It was well guarded with at least twenty to forty pirates at any given time patrolling the perimeter, and several cannons positioned on its rooftop. It was needless to say, she was well protected.


“Right this way, Captain. Your belongings will be waiting for you.” The fat one legged man said, as he pushed the large double doors leading to Ada’s personal chambers open. Boyd stepped through the threshold, and the little round man closed the doors shut. The room was as large as he remembered it with high vaulted ceilings, and an open balcony that faced the ocean. There were a number of paintings adorning the walls, many fine pieces of furniture placed throughout the room, and at the center of it all was the largest bed he had ever seen. It had a canopy top with layers of silk drapes hanging from it that gently waved in the cool breeze rushing in from the balcony.

“My dearest Boyd.” Her voice came as cold as the breeze.

“Please, come in. How is my handsomest Captain?” The spider welcomed him to her web.

“You flatter me, Lady Voras. You requested my presence?” Boyd had checked his ego at the door, and had only brought with him his wits.

Ada slithered out from under a mound of covers, and pillows like a snake as she stood from the bed. She emerged from the drapes dressed in a loose, white, flowing sun dress that danced on the slight wind. Her one blue eye studied him carefully from under strands of curly raven locks.

“Why right to business? The girls say you’re normally full of fun.” Ada said with a sinister grin as she circled him like a shark. She placed her slender hand on his shoulder, trailing it along his back as she rounded him.

“Your letter had me concerned for my Lady.” He lied convincingly. Truth was he wanted out from reach of the dagger she was likely concealing beneath her dress. “It said it was urgent I make haste.”

“You’re too sweet.” She came back around, grazing his chin with her hand. It was like she was toying with food on a plate before she ate it. “To business then… You’ve heard of the resent kidnappings, yes?”

“I have. They’re taking place all over Emoria.”

“Walk with me.” She said moving towards the balcony with Boyd at her heels. “Those recent happenings have the nations calling for a council in Nolwë Osto. They’ve extended an invitation to the pirating clans. No doubt those fools Mosonn and Neess will deny such a request, and that’s why I plan to accept. The last thing we need is all of Emoria thinking the pirates are behind the kidnappings. We will show face by being there.” Ada explained as she stopped at the banister looking out at the sea.

Boyd came beside her. “You’re right. Showing up is the only way to put it out of the minds of Emoria the pirates have anything to do with what’s been happening.” He knew what she was getting at. Boyd just didn’t want to be the one to suggest it if she wasn’t.

“Your loyalty and exploits have served your clan well, Boyd. That’s why I’ve picked you to represent me at the council. It’s far too risky for myself.”

“Of course I will.” He said it like she actually gave him a choice.

“I knew you wouldn’t let me down, Boyd... You should stay a while. Keep me company.” Her hand slid over his on the railing.

“Very tempting, my Lady, but Nolwë Osto is a few days from here. It would be best I round up my crew and get the ship prepared.”

“Very well, but then at least a kiss for luck.” Ada batted her one eye with her hand still resting atop Boyd’s.

He laughed a bit. “I’m not sure I could handle having just a taste.” The captain said forcing his smirk. There was no uncertainty for Boyd that a night with Ada Voras would be a night to remember, but he also figured most men woke up dead.

She smiled wickedly. “Then I look forward to your return. You may go now.”

Boyd pulled from the banister and moved to walk back into the room, but not before stopping to kiss Ada’s cheek. “I look forward to my return as well.” With that he left her breathing a sigh of relief. He had made it out of the spider’s web.


The library’s doors leading to the council opened with a female elf standing at it and Boyd at her side.

“Here you are.” The guide said turning to leave him. Boyd gripped her by the arm and spun her back around, meeting her with a kiss. She gasped and pushed him away, stumbling a bit when she did. “You rude –“ the elf had began to shout, but the pirate cut her short.

“You’re welcome.” Boyd said with a wink and that infamous smirk of his. He whirled around to face the others there for the meeting. “Captain Boyd Waters of the pirating Clan of Erlingsson, present.” He took a slight bow, and flashed his grin once more.

Dasciis sat next to the Jasidin woman. He had already established a sort of acquaintance with her, and the rest of the room wasn't exactly feeling warm and welcoming at the moment. As he sat, he turned his chair slightly sideways so that he would be facing more toward the sorceress and the entrance, rather than the rest of the table.

Another pair walked up to the doorway, an elven guide and a man Dasciis recognized as one of the infamous pirates. The pirates had plagued Spire's ships for so long they had become their number one threat. Spire couln't make money if they couldn't transport their ships over seas, and the pirates made that as difficult for Spire as they possibly could. Dasciis clenched his jaw and glared as the man made his easy and flagrantly rude entrance.

He refrained from commenting, however. There were enough tensions and loose tongues in the room already, and he figured adding to that wouldn't offer his homeland the professionalism they had worked hard to establish. He was particularly fond of the Arbian. The man sat there in silence, taking in the hints and messages that could be gleaned from the arguments and holding his own tongue. Perun was in a position of power for good reason. Dasciis would need to do the same, or else he might very well cause an unnecessary "official" war between Spire and the arrogant, parasitic pirates.

Dasciis noticed that, at this point, the room was for the most part filled. A representative of the Breale was surprisingly absent, as well as representatives of Fermata and Valinyx. Dasciis wondered if perhaps those nations had resisted any attempts at kidnapping, or perhaps decided it prudent to ignore the summons, or invitation as it was officially called. He wasn't sure about the lands of Renrijra Krin. It's inhabitants were strange, and tended to keep to themselves. The priest mentioned something about Tynir...something about them arming themselves. They were a dangerous group to begin with; Dasciis couldn't quite imagine what danger they would pose if they were intent on marching out beyond the borders of their own lands.

Either way, there were enough odd members to the group. Dasciis wouldn't really mind if they shut and locked the doors now...

The Spiran soldier sat down next to her, and even turned to her as if to speak, but conversation never started. The council room was too hectic for conversation that didn't result in screaming at each other from across the room. Corbina supposed that it was best that people vented some of their anger now, for when the council actually began she imagined that such behavior would not be allowed. But perhaps she was wrong, perhaps that councils are always like this. Jasidin gatherings were much more quiet, speaking mostly reserved for the six high priestess', other sorceress and saves only allowed to speak if given permission. Coming from such a strict community, she was glad that it was not her duty to speak at this council. It would have been impossible for her to be heard!

Just then a man stumbled in, a person who's identity she was only vaguely familiar in with tradings from Fermata. The Fermatan's often had trouble with pirates, and this man was definitely a pirate. The Jasidin had an uneasy truce with Fermata, relying on trade to keep things civil. She wondered if the phrase "An enemy of an enemy is a friend" truly applied here.

This man shoved himself upon his elven guide in a manner that Corbina found extremely appalling. It was the power ego of man that drove the Jasidin away from the general communities of Emoria. She wasn't sure if it was the animal disease within her, or her own stupidity, but she couldn't help feeling excitement at the ordeal. It was another side of her that was confusing, slightly disgusting, and yet she relished the feeling of her heart leaping to her throat.

Corbina brought her attention back to the table, where she noticed that there was no member of Fermata represented there. She wondered if the country would even bother coming, or stick to themselves and hope to not get hit by whatever is causing the mysterious kidnappings that Corbina did not yet understand.

Venteux was not one to make a scene. Despite her rampant curiosity, the Ionairus was not one to make herself noticeable. It was as if she was barely there sometimes, her nature allowing her to sink into the shadows where her winged appearance normally wouldn’t allow. It was, thus, how the woman stood in the Council Room now.

The waiting game was one Venteux played quite well. Being a Portal Guardian, after all, was not the most active of positions. It didn’t require glorious heroics, social savvy, noble bearings nor fast-paced thinking. It only required a steady mind and hand. This was something Venteux did possess despite any lack of the former. She could spend hours on end without so much as a word. She never slept, she barely ate and she rarely tired. She didn’t appear to age and no one even knew how long an Ionairus could live; none had ever died of age in the two-hundred or so years of their creation. Ventuex would be two-hundred and a year next winter. Such a being was prime for such a job.

Whatever Venteux was, it was certainly not an ambassador.

The letter she had received was a testament to that. She kept it in the envelop still and it was in the inner pocket of her shirt for safe keeping. She kept it close at hand, lest anyone need to view its contents.

The letter reads as such:

We, the Ancient Council, bestow upon Venteux, Ionairus of the Plane of Air, the title of acting Sir-eld’fatum. We present to you Sir Venteux as the representative of the United Elemental Nations.

Signed,
Ambassabor of the Raafurie, K’to Rav-Flame, on behalf of the Plane of Fire
Ambassabor of the Zenmistuu, Auh’zendar Nai, on behalf of the Plane of Water
Ambassabor of the Sirearthen, Deztine Farrunner, on behalf of the Plane of Earth

It was translated into six different languages. First in Elder-sin, the written language of the Ancient Council, then in Ember-tongue, Mist-talk, Primal-common, Voltalic and, finally, into Common.

The title of Sir-eld’fatum is only bestowed in times of need. The word itself is from the lost language of Elder-sin, a language and script used in the time before the planes were separated. No one is alive that can speak the language, but the script still exists and is used exclusively by the Ancient Council when they convene in times of dire need. The title is often shortened to ‘Sir’ in speech, as the precise pronunciation of the term is unknown. Sir-eld’fatum is said to mean, loosely, ‘Child of Eldest Time and Need’.

Sailahína Carnil found it extremely worrisome that a leader of the Plane of Air had been kidnapped. This boasted an incredible power at hand if they had success in such a feat, for none truly knew how to travel between the Planes, and Venteux had always avoided the subject when the Perequendë had asked.

Of course, Saila had discovered a possible answer to this. A hidden manuscript had been uncovered by her one evening a few weeks ago when she was working late. She had been tired, and when she had stood and walked toward a book case, she had stumbled, and her fighting fan had smashed into one of the shelves so hard the metal blades had been dented, but a panel had also been cast aside. Behind that panel which had fitted so seamlessly into the shelf had been a single scroll with an ancient form of Quenya elegantly written on both sides.

The young scribe hadn’t been able to read all of it, but she had studied the ancient language in the past for a while, so she was able to get the gist. The scroll depicted something like a portal that was being kept secret. It had detailed being a passage between the Planes of Existence. It had said it was hidden beneath the floors of the Great Library itself, but it had detailed no way to get to the underground nor had it depicted a way to activate the Portal.

Ever since, she had tried to find a way to access the Portal, but she had been unable to accomplish her personal task, and the recent tragedies of political leaders being kidnapped had halted her small quest. However, she believed strongly that this manuscript was no tale of fiction. It would not have been so cleverly hidden if it wasn’t true or at least strongly believed to be such.

Saila wondered if the Portal was how one of the Ionairus had been kidnapped or if that leader had been in the Material Plane at the time of his abduction. She was about to inquire, but others entered, and she found herself without time to ask. There would be time when the Council began.


It had given her a sense of pride to be able to make sure Jean de Poitiers was put in his place. Though she considered their rivalry a friendly one, for no violence had ever erupted, and the Library had never even rippled at their heated debates, it was still something that continued no matter the discussions. Their arguments could even be compared to those of siblings, but Saila was an only child, so she never could have made that comparison on her own.

She was even more pleased when the shock left his face, and an apologetic expression passed over it. However, the deep contemplation that had graced his visage worried her a little. What was he calculating? What were his plans?

When the sixteen Quendë of the Four Territories of Taurë Arda arrived, the librarian was pleased to note that they settled well with the others, and they each seated themselves. Of course, they stayed together as was normal, for they represented Taurë Arda as a whole and not just as individual regions.

Saila would not seat herself until the Council’s beginning, for that seemed to be the most polite course for her to take, especially because it had become clear she would be keeping everything organized. She was the hostess, for this was her home that these people had entered, and this was the very building where she worked daily. She would seat herself at the head of the table when things became settled, but a few nations still had not arrived, and she wanted to hold off the beginning until the last possible moment. Until then, she stood about halfway between both entryways, the better to properly greet everyone.

From her perspective, she was also able to see easily out both ways into a bit of the hall. It was this that allowed her to see that a man in ruffian garb came forth, led by a lovely Quendë guide. When she attempted to leave, he forced a kiss upon her full lips which caused Saila’s eyes to widen. The Quendë who the Perequendë knew to be called Silma was young for her race but older than the scribe. She had a look that clearly spoke of offense where she couldn’t clearly speak due to the man’s having interrupted the insult she meant to voice.

Sailahína had seen people kiss, and she had seen others force their lips on another, but she had never partaken in such an activity just as she had never once entered into a romantic relationship with another. It wasn’t that she was unattractive, for her looks could at the very least be considered average though she had not inherited such beauty as her Quendë heritage would have suggested. It wasn’t that she was personally unappealing, either. She was a strong, intelligent woman.

It really was that she wouldn’t spare the time away from work to entertain any romantic feelings. The maiden worked so much that even her family would beg her to take the time away to see them, and there had been a few occasions where they had had to practically kidnap her to ensure that she went to the Yávië Meren in the Sretin Providences that occurred every four years.

The Harvest Festival was something that originated between Taurë Arda and the Sretin Providences when they became political allies, but it grew to the point where any nation was welcome to come. It was during one of these that Saila’s parents had met and had fallen in love, so they felt it was important enough that she could take time off work to go with them.

She found her mind straying to wondering if she would react in the same way as Silma if one ever had the audacity to treat her in such a manner. The Perequendë liked to believe that she would react in a much more assertive manner than the other Quendë had, and she would have made the man feel like a goon for such a deed. However, true scenarios and ones of the imaginations do not always play by the same rules, so she could not be certain just how she would behave.

It didn’t matter. Silma was older and wiser, and she chose to walk away rather than add fuel to the fires of anger and of offense.

When he announced himself, Saila was not surprised that he was from the Aqualyt Islands. His garb and manner heavily suggested his origins. “Welcome to Nolwë Osto, Captain Waters. I am Sailahína Carnil, and I am representing this city/state. Please, I ask that you refrain from forcing yourself on anyone else during this meeting.” Though she chided him for his action, her greeting was warm enough, and it was not as if she truly felt anger at what he had done. Only if he had tried to force his body on Silma would she have truly been infuriated, but the Library would have stopped such a thing from occurring before it truly began.

“Please, will everyone begin to assemble in an orderly fashion around the table? There are still a few nations left unaccounted such as Fermata, the Sretin Providences, and Valinyx. I would like to wait a little longer in the hopes that they will present themselves.”

Venteux processed the woman's request and made her way from her spot in the corner to a place at the table. She would have to be more social from here on out, despite her general wishes. She would be representing the Elemental Planes, after all. The letter laid heavy on her heart.

She had been leaning on her staff and she knew that she would use it as a crutch if she wasn’t careful. She really wanted nothing but to hide herself with anything available and, if give the chance, she would. Luckily, the woman knew her own tendencies and sought to eliminate any barriers to her mission, self created or otherwise.

That would mean, at present, getting her staff out of the way. She knew she would just use the familiar object as security if she left it in her hands. She needed to appear strong and without any blanket of doubt.

What Venteux did next may have seemed odd to some not familiar with special magics; some would say it was all the more easy to just place the staff aside then what she did next.

The staff was enchanted with runes and protective magics that provided it with many uses for the Portal Guardian. One of these was a rather simple function: to shrink down to the size of a small door key. One couldn’t let such a power tool hinder them in flight or travel. Besides, she was forbidden to let the thing from her sight for it was too important to her work.

Venteux grasped the key-staff in both hands and chanted a brief phrase in her native tongue. At her command, the staff let off a brief blue glow. The key began to shorten from the bottom first until the handle reached the orb’s cradle at the top. It was then that the object began to spin and the rest of the key shrunk on all sides until it was the size of an ordinary key. The key stopped spinning and was hovering between her hands. The glow subsided and a silver chain appeared around her hand which was then attached to the key.

Venteux put the key around her neck as she had done many times before. She hoped that she had not caused a scene. She held the key close as she sat down in her chair. She continued her silence as she waited for the others to seat themselves.

At the librarian's direction, the Thendári paladins seemed to materialize from the wall opposite the double doors. They were never invisible; they merely started moving again. With no sound but the soft shifting of their boots on the thick carpet, the elven paladins took their places at the table. The five that had arrived with Tatyana seated themselves to her left. The the five that had been stationed together with Anatar and Chälan seated themselves on their right, taking up all of the seats in between Chälan Irrdánë and the representative of Vatienne, so that Nendra Telden happened to be in the seat immediately left of the Vatiennien elder.


__________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________


Chälan waited with Anatar and Tatyana as his thendári companions took their seats. When they had done, Chälan, then Tatyana, and finally Anatar took his seat. The Thendári took up much of the side of the table opposite the double doors, more towards the left-most half, according to their perspective. Even with all thirteen paladins at the table, though, there were still more than enough seats.

The meeting was scheduled to start at midday. Chälan could see, by the angle of the sunbeams coming down from the low skylights above the table, that the time was near. Chälan had expected to see the Breale here at least, by now. He noticed too the absence of Fermata and Valinyx, as well as the two remaining beast tribes. The presence of the pirate, by contrast, was surprising, much as the man's shameless entrance had been.

Pirates wore an armor of confidence, Chälan had always thought, an armor to mask their weaknesses. And a weakness masked was scarcely a weakness at all, except toward those who saw past the mask. The Thendári loathed pirates and their harrying of the seas. But they had chosen to work around them than confront them directly. Most Thendári came to the mainland not through pirate territory, but more along the northern coasts. The lack of human conflict made up for the more turbulent weather.

Given the choice between pirates and the navy of Spire, the Thendári had chosen the latter without contest. The Heroes of Spire were greatly respected among the people of Aendrel. And yet, sadly, though relations and trade between them have progressed significantly over the past centuries, the two peoples have so far remained distant from one another. Chälan glanced at the blue-armored Spiran, noting the contrast he presented next to the swaggering pirate. Perhaps, even among so many grander schemes that would unfold during this council, this would also be an opportunity for Aendrel and Spire to strengthen their uncertain bonds.

Insufferable. Utterly so. This priest, lecturing and posturing, had probably been born and bred to his life of politics. Saint honestly might have found it sad, if he hadn’t been so furious. Though the Moriquendë was many things, one of the things that he was not was dismissible. The damned priest seemed not even phased by his unashamed declaration of allegiance with the shadow, let alone his presence. Damned Vatiennians. They saw what they believed was righteous and dismissed the rest, and Saint would not stand for it in this room. Rage boiled inside of the dark elf at the human’s insolence, and his hand involuntary began to reach toward the knifes concealed within his sleeves. There would be no tolerance from Saint.

And then Sailahina saved them both. A short retort, and suddenly the tension was gone.

She was very good—of course she was. Fionu had trained her himself, all those years ago, giving all of his knowledge of both the territories and the library he had amassed to her freely. She wore glasses now, but the glare from the lenses utterly failed in disguising the intelligence that gleamed behind her sapphire eyes. He had forgotten. He had forgotten how happy he had been as an archivist, and how learning new things had felt to him. He had forgotten what it had felt like to be a mentor, having someone depend on you for knowledge and insight. Saint remembered now, sure enough, but the thought of the sentiment he had once had made him uncomfortable.

While her presence unsettled him, however, Saint’s own weakness sickened him. He had been baited by the priest blatantly, and worse still, had been only moments from rising to it. This was not how he acted. This was certainly not how a diplomat ought to act. If this was the best he had to offer, after all his trials, then gods help all those who depended on him. He knew better than to draw in the library. For the first time in a very long while, Saint felt…stupid. The Priest had played his like a fiddle, and Saint had been more than happy to dance to his tune.

Now, though, he had an entirely different set of problems to deal with. Saila, more specifically. Better for both of them if she’d not remembered him. Once, Fionu had taught her all she knew of the Library and the archives within it, though he suspected she’d long surpassed him in that regard. He couldn’t ignore her, couldn’t think of her as an empty piece of meat as he did with so many others. Once, he had felt something for her, something that might have been able to be called love. It had been the first thing to go in the mountains. Now all he felt for her was a strange general kind of protectiveness. He’d certainly never hurt her, or at least not willingly, but that made her dangerous to him. This kind of predicament was exactly why Saint avoided close ties.

As a delegate from the hidden state of Kvatch moved past him into the room (how had Saint not seen him? That one would bear watching for later), Saint bowed to the archivist from his past. An apology rolled off his tongue as smoothly as if he had actually meant it, but the barb hidden within was meant for the priest, not Sailahina. “The mountains would like to apologize for the intrusion, and thank the library for its remarkable and admirable tolerance.” Looking her in the eyes, Saint continued “It’s good to see you, Sailahina. Thank you for the opportunity.” Skirmish finished for now, Saint moved to take a seat without a great amount of intrusion.
And not a moment too soon. The Quendi delegates arrived from all four corners of the territories, representing a unified front, and Saint took great care not to draw too much attention. He would anyway, but did not mean he had to look for trouble.

Confrontation would only draw out his past, and he didn’t want any personal matters muddying the political waters. He certainly wanted nothing to do with the Hyarya Quendi in the room. True, his mutations made him difficult to identify, and his transgressions had occurred long ago, but elves had long memories. There was certainly no reason to take the chance.

As the delegates filed into the council room, Saila greeted all of them warmly, and the priest seemed inclined to amiability as well. Most of the delegates already seated seemed to give a warm smile or two to the new arrivals, but Saint refrained, limiting himself to merely a stiff nod to acknowledge their existence. Soon enough, everyone would know who he was, for better or worse. Still, the dark elf found himself waiting impatiently for allies. Their presence was long overdue.

The door creaked as yet another delegate entered the chamber, but Saint was disappointed to see that see the man was not a friendly nation, but instead wore the unmistakable vestments of a pirate. What stake had the pirate isles here? Saint knew that the self-serving dogs of the seas didn’t move if it didn’t profit them in some way, but he couldn’t see for the life of him what they would possibly care with inlanders. Then he realized: they were covering their tracks. Somebody had to be blamed for the disappearances (if you could call them that), and the pirates were insuring that they weren’t held responsible. True to form, he broke protocol the moment he walked into the door, grabbing and kissing the guide that had been responsible for him.

Saint was disgusted by the display. He’s never had a stomach for the more…romantic of intimidation methods. He understood the value of them: this man did not intend to play by the rules. Still, seeing the peaceful Quendi mistreated would have once bothered him, so he considered it good form to get slightly annoyed at their mistreatment. Realizing that vilifying the brigand made no sense when Saint himself had done far worse deeds than steal a kiss, he forced himself to see the man in a new light. Perhaps the pirates could assist in shifting blame, or help to slip out of a slippery situation? They seemed to mostly fight for the gold in their pockets.
Plans were already formulating. There was very little time left before the council. The problems he’d discovered would have to be dealt with at some later date, carefully and methodically, starting with the priest.

After all, he still had to travel home, and the roads could be dangerous this time of year.

Ja’Dhannar grinned widely by Captain Water’s entrance, though much of the expression was covered by his mask. Such displays were the reason he had taken a liking to the pirating nation to the north of Kvatch; the mannerisms between the two cultures were polar opposites in nearly every way and such audacious actions were rarely witnessed or performed by Khajiiti.

The two nations meshed will with one another despite these differences, mostly because the Aqualyt Islands gained many of their goods through illicit methods while the merchants of Kvatch have a tendency not to ask questions when trading goods. That is unless a majority of the goods are of Khajiiti make. Their relationship and “alliance” is based on the mutual understanding that the pirating clans will have a reliable and fair fence to trade their wares as long as Khajiiti merchant ships and fishing vessels were not targeted.

The Listener and Silencers make sure they are well informed about the leaders and subordinates of the pirating clans should issues arise and diplomatic resolutions need to be made for one reason or another. Captain Boyd Waters, or rather Bfal ta 'l-Wlma, had always been a person Ja’Dhannar found amusing through the reports he had received. There had even been a few instances where their paths had crossed, though the Khajiiti was in his Templer attire during such encounters and scarcely a sentence was shared between them.

Ja’Dhannar motioned to a seat adjacent to his when their gazes met. “Would you care to join me, Ambassador Waters?”

It was an invitation that was both diplomatic and strategic in nature. Both being representatives from a region close to the suspected threat, their fates might be shared to a certain degree. It also placed the Khajiiti in close vicinity, placing him out of the way of pistol fire should weapons be drawn or allow him a chance to strike first should the guns be trained upon him. Even though the room’s wards made such an event all but impossible, Ja’Dhannar still felt more at ease taking precautions should time tested assumptions suddenly fail.

Every noise, every moment, every scent was a reminder of the political powerplays that were being executed by the beings within the room. It was Corbina's job to understand it all, but with little research she didn't have much to go on. A swirl of confusion muttled her mind, and it caused her to feel another anxiousness in her stomach, different from the previous one. She wished that the council would begin so she could make sense of it all. Right now she felt trapped, that similar feeling when one's foot gets caught in a bush and the anxiousness one feels when they cannot get out.

I have to get out of here. Corbina stood, muttered an "Excuse me" as she brushed by the Spiran Soldier, and barely thought to ask for permission to leave as she reached the large, open double doors. She turned about, looked to the Librarian and asked, "May I step out a moment?" To which the librarian agreed. She didn't wait for any other responses before she left the room, and realized that her actions were probably going to be included in the political pish posh that the council room was infested with. She didn't mind, though. She needed to breathe.

The hall outside of the council was serene, with such a lack of tension that she thought she could sleep on the lovely marble floors. There were benches every few yards or so, and she picked one to sit at, letting her head fall into her hands as she struggled to collect the serenity around her into her own body. If just being around people had such a lousy effect on her, how was she ever supposed to survive? She thought of the wild lycans, who spent most their time alone unless hunting in packs helped them get their dinner. Their social interactions were no better than an animal; fighting for dominance when the next lycan stepped in, fighting to survive, and those who didn't fight died.

She couldn't afford that sort of behavior, for fighting in this context would surely kill her. "I need a war...then my anger would be worthy, and I would be praised by my people..." But even that thought was nearly hopeless. Anyone infected would never be accepted...

And yet, the quiet Spiran did not seem troubled by her prescence. Perhaps she was looking for acceptance in the wrong places.

The tension was so thick he could have cut it with a knife. It was no surprise with so many nations crammed into one room, and forced to face their differences there was some animosity in the air. In all honestly Boyd was vaguely shocked that no one had been run-through yet.

The disgusted and hatred filled stares came right on queue. First a sharp glare from a Hero of Spire whose blood was likely boiling just at the sight of the Pirate Captain. The pirates had been putting a dent in Spire’s trade for years. Boyd imagined there was only a thin line of discipline keeping the Hero from flashing his sword.

Beside the Spiran he caught a mixed look from a Sorceress from the Swamplands, which bordered somewhere between appalled and intrigued. Boyd knew very littler of her kind aside from what he had heard rumored. From the stories told, her people were no more trusted than his pirates.

Boyd continued to let his gaze wander the room. He recognized the self-righteous paladins, noting their presence and…

“Welcome to Nolwë Osto, Captain Waters. I am Sailahína Carnil, and I am representing this city/state.” A Lady Elf came forward greeting him. Boyd reached for her hand, taking it softly in his. "Please, I ask that you refrain from forcing yourself on anyone else during this meeting.” Saila’s words stopped his lips shy of the top of her hand.

The pirate looked up with his smirk. “Happily,” he said releasing her hand gently.

Boyd turned from the librarian to find a seat. His emerald hues met the representative from Kvatch. The stealthy Khajiiti had managed to escape the pirate’s notice. Kvatch had a truce with two of the three Pirating Clans, Erlingsson was one of them. The Khajiiti was the closest thing Boyd had to an ally in the council, thus it made sense for him to accept the offer.

Boyd moved across the room for the seat. He flopped down, kicking his boot clad feet onto the table, sent the chair on its two back legs, and folded his hands behind his head. The Captain glanced over at the Khajiiti. “So, what’s your name, Fur-ball?”

Nilus exchanged his welcome with Sailahína before moving away from the door. Naomi followed him to about the middle point of the room, where they waited for the council to start. Only a moment after they had entered, a Jasidin Sorceress entered the chamber and introduced herself. As she did, Nilus noted the scoffing from the Vatiennien. The older gentleman was obviously going to be a point of attention in this council. These gatherings were his profession, and while Nilus didn't understand the source of his ire, the man could have at least kept his thoughts to himself.

Nilus turned to Naomi and whispered,
"If we are lucky, we will not leave this place with any new enemies. It would be best for us to only be seen and not heard for now. If we are addressed by another member of this council, I will speak for us."
The younger Ayren nodded her head and proceeded to stand quietly at Nilus' side as several others entered the council chamber.

A Hero of Spire immediately caught Nilus' attention. He secretly envied that their similarities with the Ayrens created opposite feelings from the world. Spirans were revered as heroes, while the Ayrens were mainly seen as opportunists. While it was undeniable to say Ayrens tend to look out for themselves first and others later, it could be justified by the fact that they were a dying race, brought down by their own belligerent ways.

After the Spiran was the Arbian, from the lands just North of Idona. Nilus hadn't seen many Arbians in his life, mainly because he was almost always out on a contract until recent years, which were spent serving King Arrington IV.

A little while later, the room hushed completely. A representative from the Mountains of Night came through the door. Nilus had never personally fought creatures and thralls from that land, but Ayren mercenaries had been conscripted in the past to fight them. Almost immediately an argument broke out. Once again, the Vatiennien was the source. The Ionarian woman on the other side of the room seemed flustered by his presence as well, but she remained silent.

As the two dignitaries bantered, Nilus whispered to Naomi again,
"This is why Idona doesn't participate in affairs like this regularly. We can't pick fights with other nations, especially when we can't make money from it. Ayren councils are much more informal, and result in new alliances to solve problems rather than creating them."

Naomi brushed her hair away from her face as she replied,
"My father took part in several, and I think you were in a few recently, but I didn't know you at the time."

By this time, the Quendë had diffused the situation, and another council member entered the room. This one was familiar, a Khajiiti. Nilus had spent a lot of time in Kvatch, and enjoyed the company of Khajiiti militants and civilians alike. Their solo and small unit tactics were the base of many strategies Nilus employed with his own forces. The biggest difference between them was that Ayrens had absolutely zero capacity for magic use, and instead had to rely on science and technology to best their foes.

An hour or so passed, and more dignitaries began to fill the room, almost none of which were familiar to Nilus. He began to wonder if any of his personal enemies would show up, and if so, would he be able to keep his composure? The Vatiennien politician was unable, but perhaps 'acts' like that were his job. There were always agendas to satisfy, ends to meet with whatever means necessary, and the genuine words could have easily been lost among the ones meant to draw out a reaction...for whatever reason. Thinking too hard on the subject could cause any Ayren to die of boredom. Being straight to the point was paramount when it came to important issues.

Later still, in came a Pirate Captain. The Spiran shot him a look that could rend steel, the Quendë gave a knowing sigh, and the Khajiiti in the corner stirred a bit, but his demeanor was impossible to see behind his mask. The Ayrens had an interesting history with the pirate clans, normally exchanging knowledge and technology. In fact, it was the fault of the Ayrens that the pirate clans came to use firearms at all, but that was a long time ago. Nilus would treat this one the same as any stranger, with respect until he proved himself unworthy of it.

The council was about to begin. Nilus was finding himself bored until he suddenly broke into a sweat. His hands trembled slightly, and his eyes strained as he felt his pupils dilating. He remained dead silent through the ordeal, as it was commonplace with Ayrens to have these episodes. The excess of adrenaline was flushing through his bloodstream, making his body anticipate action. All Ayrens were affected by this condition, which was speculated to be the source of their weak immune systems. A distilled beverage had been developed from Flor to combat the effects of these adrenaline attacks, but it had yet to see any effect on the Ayrens inability to resist diseases.

The Jasidin woman stepped out of the room a moment later. Seeing that leaving the room was permissible, Nilus excused himself as well. The hallway just outside the council chamber seemed several degrees cooler without the body heat several dozen people surrounding him. Naomi followed him out into the hallway, presenting a gourd-shaped flask.

Nilus nodded in appreciation as he took a drought from the flask. The effects weren't immediate, but they were long lasting once they took to the bloodstream. Nilus drew a few deep breaths before deciding to sit on a bench opposite to the Jasidin. She seemed highly preoccupied with troubling thoughts, something Nilus had become familiar with recently. As he studied her demeanor, he noticed small flecks of red in her eyes. He knew that it could be caused by several different things, but he lacked the courage to ask a complete stranger why she had a deformity in her eyes.

These more detailed thoughts were a sign of the waning adrenaline rush. When satisfied by violence, a typical Ayren would focus only on the fight, brutally destroying the enemy with whatever means necessary. As Nilus overcame the blood-borne rage, his mind settled back on the task at hand: being seen and not heard. He awkwardly stood up, but decided to stay outside of the council room until he would be asked to re-enter.

Soon after Jean’s little verbal confrontation and extreme shaking of his left hand because of his disease, the priest thought that the rest of the conference would go much smoother. Well, he hoped. The least we can say is that his wishes weren’t followed. In fact, we could say that events went in the exact opposite direction.

Jean was deep in thought until he spoke. Saint mumbled something about him and his worthless country being sorry blah, blah and blah. The dark elf even had a certain sting to his words, obviously intended for the priest. But that was to be expected. Jean would have done the same.

When the council doors swung open, Jean was pulled back to reality from his thinking once again. Another one of his ‘friends’ had arrived. This time, the hatred between the arriving country and his own weren’t as intense or as powerful as with the Mountains of Night yet it was still omnipresent. The pirates had arrived. Boyd Waters seemingly waltzed into the conference room. His way of walking, however, was scarcely Jean’s primary concern.

No, Jean’s primary reason for his shock… and a wave of hatred was how he forced himself onto that elf lady who had the generosity to guide him to the council room in the first place. Now, this did not surprise Jean in the least. Pirates have no class: that is common knowledge. In fact, he wasn’t even surprised to have seen him do that arriving at this important conference. However, there was one amusing hint to this little episode. The dark elf, Saint, seemed to have flinched or at least disgusted by the pirates show. All in all, Jean found that amusing.

Jean contended himself by shooting a glare at the pirate. Once again, his hand started to shake uncontrollably. Wonderful. If it wasn’t enough to have shown his weakness shown to the Saint fellow, he had to do it to yet another one of his enemies. At least he was safe in this library, for now…right?

After a moment, Saila decided to take the reins for the evening. She insisted on everyone taking a seat around the table. That was already done for Jean. Already at the table that Jean could see without moving his head were Perun and a large amount of thendári paladins. Then she announced that the meeting was to commence soon and then said something about some countries not showing up. That was an oddity for sure.

Fermata, Valiynx and the Sretin provinces seemed to have missed the boat. And as fate would have it, they were all allied or at least friendly towards Vatienne and her people. This meant that Jean was being prived from three potentially friendly aids either on debate or other. That stung, especially in these sorts of meetings. In the best of worlds, you wanted to have at least 1/3 or half of the room on your side. This, however, was far from perfect. Very far.

Then, another voice sprung out to the Vatiennien’s ears. The Khajiiti had invited the pirate to go sit next to him. Now that is exactly what Jean had been waiting for: a show of friendship between two people. For future reference and for reporting to the Senate, Jean noted that the Khajiiti and the pirates have somewhat of a bond. Jean now grinned slightly, he wanted more. More juicy information so Vatienne could more easily control world diplomacy.

Yet, as if a balloon pricked by a needle, Jean’s smile evaporated as quickly as it had appeared. The sorceress from the marshes, Obscuracce, simply left the council room after quickly asking our dear lady elf presider if it was allowed. Of course, it was indeed allowed and the sorceress left the room, walking out of Jean’s line of sight no matter how he shifted and turned on his chair. To make matters worse, the two Idoniens followed the sorceress outside.

Jean pondered on what just happened, and put on his angry face. He then shot up from his seat and walked quickly and angrily to the double-sided doors. Once outside of the room, he turned to face the entire meeting room and without further ado or facial expression, closed them tightly shut so that no one else would have the genius idea of leaving the room.

Jean was leaning on the door when he opened his mouth. The Vatiennien was obviously addressing the sorceress. “Alright, I finally figured out what you are,” begun the priest. “You are a lycan.”

Jean, since the sorceress’ arrival at the council, had noticed her odd eyes and kept trying to dig his mind to find out why they had such an eccentric color. It finally hit him. Now, normally Jean wouldn’t care. Maybe he would just insult or bring said person down, but Jean wasn’t normal. He was a priest. And he wasn’t just a priest, he was a Vatiennien priest and as a Vatiennien priest he had the duty to come to those in need. Lycans are part of The List.

When Jean had walked outside of the room, he had done so while acting. Jean had been a big enough bully and arrogant, so an angry face was easy to fake because everyone would believe it. It was so that no one would follow him and interrupt him. Also, Jean made sure he kept positive thoughts so he wouldn’t activate the libraries defense system.

Jean turned his head towards the sorceress all while still leaning on the double doors. “Look, don’t think I am here to insult or hurt you,” begun Jean, now turning towards the sorceress. “I actually followed you to help.” Jean now slowly started walking towards the sorceress. “As a priest of Vatienne, I have vowed to help the sick and cursed and cure them, show them the light. I am here to offer to do the same for you.”

Once near the sorceress, Jean kneeled in front of Obscuracce and looked her in the eye. The priest’s voice was now slightly lower. “I know that being a lycan, it is hard to take up the courage to come to a room full of pompous diplomats and do what you do. You must always feel somewhat… persecuted. I myself am proof to that with my childish reaction to your very arrival to the council, and I am sincerely sorry. I do, however, want to repair that by trying to help you.”

Jean was surprised to the tone of his voice: calm, serene and authoritative. He was very sincere, though. He really was sorry and really did want to help this woman. Jean couldn’t be all bad. He was still a favorite in the Vatiennien elite and a favorite among the priests. There was indeed a reason for all of that.

Jean was still looking in Obsuracce’s eyes before he remembered about the Ayrens. He wondered what their reaction will be to the priest’s action. He must have been quite a show for them since they arrived to the council room. But finally, Jean patiently waited for the sorceress’ response to his little speech.

Silent eyes surveyed the glistening city of Nowlë Osto, watching as the people weaved in and out of the crowded streets, lingering on the laughing children racing about. A silent chuckle rumbled up from his chest, as the great alligator-like beast beneath him watched the elves with a hungering gaze. It was his first visit to the city himself, and he could not help but take note of the senseless design of the city. All glamour, little practicality. Where was the use in shimmering homes?

The Tynir focused his eyes on the Quendi that flowed throughout the street, the fair-skinned elves enjoying the sunny weather and peaceful air that hung over the city. He found himself chuckling louder, shaking his head in disbelief. This was the grand centre of this world? A place of decadence? A place that cultivated the weak of body?

This place held no value to his kind. Nevertheless, they had come. The world was in an uproar over the loss of their leaders and figureheads, demanding action and the blood of those responsible. Were they Tynir, they would have mocked, and cast out such pathetic excuses for leadership. No true leader would allow themselves to be captured, not while they still drew breath. The world would be better off without such wastes, he was certain.

Two others sat at his flanks, awaiting orders from their lead, with a third just behind him, a standard of black and violet held firmly in her grasp, with the other spread wide across her mounts neck. Soft mutterings and hisses announced the three females’ disgust at the wasteful sight below them, one even expressing a desire to see it burn. Many things the Tynir were, but to exist in excess was an existence none desired.

He looked to the rider who sat just away from the group, mounted on an impressive beast from her jungle home. She was an impressive figure, an olive skinned woman hailing from the depths of Wyluutaan Jerigg. She had been the center of much attention since her arrival in Korun Otak, her battle-scarred body drawing the eyes of the young males, and making the young females’ blood boil. She practically radiated confidence, emboldened by her blood and power to great things. Powerful muscles rippled with every twitch of her arms, and her powerful hands softly stroked the neck of her mount, soothing the creature with a gentle touch. These acts of compassion were hidden expertly, but it was difficult to slip something past him, and she was not even aware he watched most times. In many ways, the Tynir had found she embodied the twin aspects of her culture perfectly. Beauty and Ferocity.

She truly was the spitting image of her mother, right down to the smallest of details. Even now, he found it difficult to tell whether he sat outside Nowlë Osto, headed to a meeting of the world’s most important figures, or next to Enu’nat on the banks of Korun Otak, watching the sky throw its anger to the world in beautiful arcs of power, shattering tree and earth as if they were nothing to it.

It had been like this since they had met. The daughter of a lost friend, bringing up memories of a life he had left behind a long time ago. His eyes soon found her amber ones, and he allowed himself a smile as his mind slipped back to the present, letting thoughts of a tender embrace under storming skies fade.

He motioned to the city before them. “Nowlë Osto, the city of knowledge, home of the Great Library.” His voice broke the silence like a thunder cap; strong and commanding the attention of those it addressed. “What do you think, Tusohe? Did my stories do it justice?”

“It is ugly. Wasteful.” Her voice was quick, snapping violently outward like lightning before vanishing as soon as she finished speaking, but he still caught the venom lurking in her words. “There is nothing here that is practical. Pale-skins abound in numbers, all of them weak, unfit to survive. They would not last a day in Wyluutaan Jerigg or Korun Otak!”

Ayurent didn’t respond, knowing that the young Zahiik wasn’t done yet, although he could hear the murmurs of agreement coming from their companions.


“Where is this Eyktan being held? I want to leave this place as soon as we are able.” She sucked in a breath, and it seemed as though the air’s very presence in her body was only fueling her anger. “This place reeks of pale-skins and their filth. I do not like it.”

He gave his beast a stroke on the neck, and it began to lumber forward, the small group falling close behind their leader. “The Great Library. It is rather difficult to miss.” The aforementioned structure dominated the city, easily visible from all around the city-state. “We should hurry, Tusohe. It would not do to keep the rest of them waiting.”

The mounts increased their speed, taking the group straight to the foot of the grand building. Ayurent stepped down slowly, his eyes watching the doors at the top of the steps quietly. “Take the mounts, and find an inn to stay in.” The three escorts nodded in compliance, and were about to collect his beast when he raised a hand. “Once they are secure, I want you to have a look about the city.” His eyes met with the leading female, and she nodded her head in understanding.

“As you command, Kon’ost Ayurent.”

Without another word, they departed with the mounts, as Ayurent looked to his companion. He gave her a knowing smile, before starting up the steps towards the entrance.

“Come. It is time for the Council.” He didn’t slow his stride, knowing the I’nak would be hot on his heels. Once inside, he took in the strange building with a single sweep of his eyes. It would fall within a single day should any potential invaders ever reach it’s halls. Far too wide for any sort of choke point, and a distinct lack of weaponry anywhere within sight. This truly was the product of a foolish mind.

None of this showed on his face as the General gave their guide a warm greeting in Common, which the guide returned with a shallow bow. Doing the same for Tusohe, the guide then turned and lead the pair deeper into the library, past towering bookcases and bustling scribes. They traveled in silence for several minutes, Ayurent calmly taking in everything as they passed.

The guide slowed to a halt, and the Tynir looked to the source of their lack of motion. It seemed a small number of the dignitaries had left the council chamber to get some air before the meeting officially began. Had things become so heated already? Looking to the purple robed woman, he chuckled as he saw the barely contained anger lurking within her. A Jasadin, if he wasn’t mistaken.

Before his gaze found the two Ayrens, a priest emerged from the council room, and shut the doors tightly. This caused him to raise a brow, but he remained still as their guide quietly excused himself and walked back the way they had come.

“Alright, I finally figured out what you are,” The priest’s voice broke the silence that hung over the small grouping in the hall. “You are a lycan.” This caused Ayurent to look at the woman in a new light. He had read a book on lycan once. Powerful creatures, although brutally savage. Those who survived the destructive effects of the potent virus were few, and possessed fearsome strength.

She would make a fine ally, and this priest would provide the situation he needed to become such a thing. He chuckled as the man appealed to the woman, offering to ‘cure’ and ‘repair’ her. Such idiocy. Power was not something that needed to be fixed.

“And what is wrong with her that requires such aid?” The general slowly approached the two, towering easily over the two humans. A perplexed look adorned his features, as he placed a powerful hand on the priest’s shoulder. “There is little shame in conquering the Lycan virus. If anything, it simple speaks of the impressive strength she must possess, wouldn’t you agree?” He smiled warmly at her, his hand never leaving Jean’s shoulder.

“You must be quite strong to be standing before us. Moreover, to be sent to a council of such importance…there is nothing wrong with her. If anything, we are the ones not fit to stand in a council with her, my dear priest.”


“But where are my manners?” Clasping a hand over his chest, the Tynir bowed deep to the pair. “I am Siade Ayurent, Kon’ost of the Tynir, here on behalf of the Lady. It is a pleasure to meet you both.” His smile never faltered, even as he motioned to his companion. “And this is Zahiik Tusohe, daughter of Ihanhi Enu’nat, and representative of the I’nak. She speaks little common, so you must forgive her if she has difficulty understanding you.”

“Da hinso, Rou’nak.” She spoke softly, her words for the tzuacal she sat upon. One hand stroked his neck, tracing one of the black striped that ran down his neck and back. “Da hinso crenadai.” The great reptile calmed at her words and touch, though he was still obviously unnerved by the dense city he had been brought into. All around he could see prey, yet his rider did not let the raptor-like beast hunt, nor did she seek out conflict as was her usual method on entering a new place.

The city was shimmering golds and silvers, with bright splashes of color thrown into the mash. Towers and wasteful structures that would provide little shelter or protection from attack, and not a wild green growing thing could be seen. It was ugly to her, wasteful and devoid of any signs of strength or ferocity. She squinted, silently wishing that she could be back in Wyluutaan Jerigg, surrounded by the greenery of her lush and savage home.

Tusohe frowned, her hand coming up to scratch the boney crest that decorated Rou’nak’s head. All around her she could see pale-skins--no, that wasn’t right. These were elves; Ayurent had spent several days teaching her the differences between the pale-skins. Humans and Elves. She bared her teeth in a silent snarl. They pulsed around her in throngs, though none dared wander close to the I’nak and her Tynir companions. Clothed from head to toe in draping fabrics that did nothing but restrict movement.

The woman glanced down at her own clothes; her normally amber eyes shot with shards of ice blue. Ayurent had forced them upon her, said that if she did not wear them she could not come. They were an annoyance. Thankfully, her modified loincloth still allowed for easy movement, and the fabric that covered her chest and torso--what Ayurent had said was called a shirt by the pale-skins--didn’t restrict her. She raised her gaze, looking back out over the city.

How had this place not been destroyed? Surely these frail creatures were not the rulers of the land. Since their arrival in the “City of Knowledge” she hadn’t seen a warrior amongst them. Only those weak of body, dressed with no practicality, carrying no weapons. How could the pale-skins keep such a place safe with none to defend it? She was almost tempted to turn Rou’nak loose on them, so that he could hunt and in turn rid the world of such worthless beings.

Movement to her left drew her attention. Ayurent gestured to the city before them with one arm.

“Nowlë Osto, the city of knowledge, home of the Great Library.” His voice broke the silence between them; strong, confident, and commanding. It was easy to see why Meyul had him as her right hand. He was an impressive Tynir, especially considering how he was older and still quite capable. He was strong, and carried himself in such a way that left no room for compromise. “What do you think, Tusohe? Did my stories do it justice?”

“It is ugly. Wasteful.” She looked back over the city, her eyes hardening and the ice blue completely overtaking the amber. “There is nothing here that is practical. Pale-skins abound in numbers, all of them weak, unfit to survive. They would not last a day in Wyluutaan Jerigg or Korun Otak!”

She bared her teeth, almost as though she wanted to tear the place apart stone by stone. Beneath her, Rou’nak shifted, picking up on his rider’s anger and distaste. Her ears flicked back, catching the murmurs of agreement from the Tynir that accompanied her and Ayurent.

“Where is this Eyktan being held? I want to leave this place as soon as we are able.” She inhaled deeply, her nostrils flaring. The scents of the city and its inhabitants were nauseating, swirling together in an indistinct mash. “This place reeks of pale-skins and their filth. I do not like it.”

Another movement from her Tynir teacher drew her attention; a light stroke on his mount’s neck. The aligator like beast lumbered forward at the command and the three Tynir accompanying them fell in close formation behind their leader. Tusohe let out a small yip, to which Rou’nak responded by starting forward as well. She took up a position next to Ayurent; though she kept a good bit of space between them.

“The Great Library. It is rather difficult to miss.” The structure of which he spoke dominated the city, easily visible from any part of the city. It was all towers and spirals. More glittering slivers and golds that made the I‘nak‘s eyes hurt. “We should hurry, Tusohe. It would not do to keep the rest of them waiting.”

The mounts picked up speed, unhindered by the traffic as all gave the southern continent natives a wide berth, taking the group to the foot of large building. Ayurent dismounted slowly, his eyes focused on the doors that guarded the entrance of the library. She had yet to grasp the need for doors. They blocked escape, made becoming trapped an easy feat. If they were so worried about being interrupted or intruders, they should have warriors to trust in. Not flimsy wood.

“Take the mounts, and find an inn to stay in.” The Tynir escorts nodded in acknowledgement of Ayurent’s order, and went to collect his beast. He raised a hand. “Once they are secure, I want you to have a look about the city.” He exchanged a glance with the leading female of the escort; she nodded.

“As you command, Kon’ost Ayurent.”

Tusohe scratched along Rou’nak’s crest; taking a moment to tell him that he could not come with her, and that he had to behave himself and follow the Tynir escorts. She spoke in a language only the beast could understand; a combination of growls and snarls with bits of I’nak scattered in. Rou’nak turned his head, looking back at his companion. She reached out and scratched his eye ridge, watching as first the protective inner lid closed, followed by his outer lids. She gave him one last affectionate scratch, before jumping from his back in fluid, graceful motion.

No more words were exchanged, and the escorts departed with the mounts. Ayurent looked at Tusohe, who met his gaze evenly, and smiled that knowing smile she had become all too familiar with. He started up the steps towards the entrance.

“Come. It is time for the Council.”

Tusohe quickly started after him, her long strides easily bringing her to his side once more. They entered the building quietly, and the I’nak looked over it with eyes shot with green. She was curious, no matter how flawed the place was. Here, the great Eyktan of the world would be held. Here, decisions that would effect all the world would be made.

She snorted softly. But before she could make a comment a pale-skin guide appeared. An elf. The Zahiik watched as Ayurent greeted the elf; it was a warm, friendly greeting, though she could barely understand the words he spoke, his tone and body language were easy to read. The guide bowed first to the Tynir, then to the I’nak, before turning and leading them deeper into the library. The silence was a relief from the myriad sounds that dominated the city, and Tusohe took full advantage of it. She focused on taking in their surroundings, the benches, the towering cases filled with books, the pale-skins who scurried about quietly.

Their guide slowed, and the I’nak blinked. Her eyes were nearly dominated by the green now. Had they arrived?

A few pale-skins sat outside the chamber that the Eyktan was surely to be held in. She wrinkled her nose, forcing down feelings of distaste. She could practically smell the tension that radiated from the room. Her eyes flicked over the two pale-skins, a female and male, that looked to be some kind of warrior; before her gaze was drawn to the purple robed female pale-skin that had drawn Ayurent’s innitial attention. The woman--human--was tense. Anger lurked beneath the surface, waiting for a chance to lash out.

Footsteps caused the Zahiik’s ears to flick back, and she looked over just in time to see a male pale-skin dressed in robes of white and silver exit the room and close the door tight behind him. Their guide excused himself, and Tusohe turned curious eyes to Ayurent.

“Alright, I finally figured out what you are,” The white robed pale-skin spoke, destroying the silence that reigned in the hall. “You are a lycan.”

The huntress looked to the female, before looking back to the male. She could not follow his words, but one in particular jumped out at her. What was a Lycan? From the way the male spoke, his vocal tone and inflections, they were something that was considered bad. Were they creatures that could provide a worthy hunt? Her gaze slid back to the female; she looked so small and fragile. Could she really be a of a breed that could present her with a challenge?

The male continued to speak, but the words were lost on Tusohe. She looked to Ayurent, hoping he would give some indication of what was said.

“And what is wrong with her that requires such aid?” The Tynir slowly approached the two pale-skins; and she followed him closely. She blinked, a bit surprised. She had known that the pale-skins where short, but her and Ayurent towered above them. Her companion’s next move caught her off guard. He reached out and placed his hand on a complete stranger!

She frowned slightly, but said nothing. The Tynir lacked that aversion to touch that her people had.

“There is little shame in conquering the Lycan virus. If anything, it simple speaks of the impressive strength she must possess, wouldn’t you agree?” He smiled at the female and his hand never left the male’s shoulder. The Zahiik almost wondered if her companion intended to harm the pale-skin, though she very much doubted that he would.

“You must be quite strong to be standing before us. Moreover, to be sent to a council of such importance…there is nothing wrong with her. If anything, we are the ones not fit to stand in a council with her, my dear priest.”

Again, more words she couldn’t understand. He seemed to be praising the female, but she wished that Ayurent would at least translate for her.

“But where are my manners?” Clasping a hand over his chest, the Tynir bowed deeply to the pair. “I am Siade Ayurent, Kon’ost of the Tynir, here on behalf of the Lady. It is a pleasure to meet you both.” He continued to smile before motioning back to Tusohe. “And this is Zahiik Tusohe, daughter of Ihanhi Enu’nat, and representative of the I’nak. She speaks little common, so you must forgive her if she has difficulty understanding you.”

She blinked in surprise before stepping forward. She recognized his words as introduction and greeting. She looked to the male, before turning her attention to the female. She bowed, though hers was more stiff and far less deep than her companion’s.

“The I’nak are…” She frowned, searching for the words. “happy to see the Eyktan.” Her accent was thick, but she managed to make herself understood.

“So, what’s your name, Fur-ball?”

A low basso tone that was the middle ground between a purr and a growl was Ja’Dhannar’s immediate response to the question. It was the Khajiiti equivalent of a chuckle. The captain’s presence during this meeting would prove to be interesting and Ja’Dhannar was looking forward to seeing what sort of things it would stir up next.

“You certainly are a master of first impressions.” Ja’Dhannar’s rough voice still had the slight undertone of his chuckle as he spoke, “You may not make many friends, but they will undoubtedly remember you. You may call me Ja’Dhannar, and I am glad to finally meet you in person.”

The Khajiiti took note of the captain’s reaction of that lingering statement before clarifying with a shrug.

“Like I said, you are an easy person to remember.”

A few minutes had passed and he was surprised to see that a few of the ambassadors had begun to leave the room; each one seemed to be slightly agitated for one reason or another. It was only the priest who gave some sort of indication as to his displeasure when he glared at the other emissaries, warning them not to follow the lead of the other three. Ja’Dhannar let out another brief Khajiiti chuckle as the doors slammed closed.

“If I didn’t know better, I think he just issued you a challenge.” He said with a side glance to Captain Waters.

Ja’Dhannar could hear the voices on the other side of the door, though the words were too muffled to clearly make out anything being said. Then came another voice, its tone different from that of a typical human. The hair on the back of the Silencer’s neck stood on end and his lean muscles tensed, ready to react. He had no doubt as to who the new arrival was, though he had hoped that the Tynir would have maintained their indifferent ways in terms of international matters. Their presence at this meeting would likely magnify the already tense atmosphere of the room. By the wrath of Jode, the meeting hasn’t even started yet and there had already been instances of dignitaries reaching for their weapons. The last thing we need is a war-hungry representative to add fuel to the situation.

There was another voice, not as deep as before, but still resembling the same tone as before. A Tynir alternate? Perhaps the I’nak representative traveled with their Tynir brethren. I can only imagine how they are adjusting to the culture of the Quendë, though I am glad that I have yet to hear screams or a general call to arms following in their wake.

“Things are about to get…interesting…” The Khajiiti murmured under his breath, his casual demeanor faded and he became as emotionless as stone.

“Things are about to get…interesting…”

Venteux thinks she hears the man across from her say these words. They puzzle her for a moment. Weren’t things already interesting?

Venteux’s curiosity seemed to make just about anything interesting. While she absolutely hated crowds and complex social situations, she had a strange fondness for people. Perhaps it was a characteristic of her people. It was their interest in humans that had spurred their emergence on the Material Plane, after all. Rampant curiosity was certainly a trait that all Ionairus possessed.

Currently, she was looking to the cat-like man that had seated himself across from her. She didn’t seem to notice that it might be awkward to him that she was staring at him so intently. She started to ponder who and, exactly, what he was. She had never encountered his people before and she wondered why. She observes him quite intently and begins to lean on the table closer to him without realizing it.

Her feathery ears twitch on the sides on her head. Her violet eyes are wide. She tilts her head and coos without much regard to anyone else in the room.

The exiting of some of the other diplomats does not stir Venteux. She doesn’t take much note at the things she hears on the other side of the door either. She is far too busy examining the Khajiiti.

She doesn’t realize that things truly are going to become much more interesting in the next few moments.

Nilus was taken aback as the Vatiennien priest barged through the door and shut it behind him. Tactically speaking, that was a threat of violence, which made Nilus reflexively put one hand on the sheath of his blade.

As the priest began to speak, Nilus immediately backed down. He leaned back against the wall and motioned for Naomi to do the same.

Perhaps this medication hasn't fully taken effect yet... he thought to himself, embarrassed at how ready for a fight he was in such a place. As the thought crossed his mind, an all-too-familiar face strode into the hallway, accompanied by someone else whom Nilus didn't recognize. Given her height and features, she must have been I'nak. Nilus had a loose familiarity with the races directly South of the Mountains of Night.

“And what is wrong with her that requires such aid?” the Tynir began. "There is little shame in conquering the Lycan virus. If anything, it simply speaks of the impressive strength she must possess, wouldn’t you agree?"

Nilus stood silently as the group conversed. Plenty of times during this day he had held his tongue. He had thought to interrupt the Vatiennien priest with some poisonous words of his own at least twice today, but staying neutral was more important than directing insults on a man he didn't know. The Tynir who stood before him now would put Nilus' discipline to the test. If any situation would be worth keeping to himself, it was this one.

The odds are astronomical, at best... Nilus thought, still in disbelief at who stood before him. If this was the same Siade Ayurent that he crossed blades with 4 years ago, then the events of this council would certainly be interesting.

-4 years ago-
Tynir Territory bordering Kvatch
Nilus is only 17 at the time, and still the youngest Ayren Captain to date. After completing a contract in Kvatch, two of his scouting teams go missing. Rather than leave them to their fates, Nilus goes searching East into Korun Otak. By this time the group of 94 is tired, hungry, and in need of supplies, but Nilus insists on finding his lost men.

Near midnight on the third day in unknown territory, the group is attacked. The enemy numbers, intent, and identity are unknown, and Nilus finds himself fighting one on one against their leader...

The fight does not last long. Ayurent is a master tactician and a skilled fighter. With his bare hands he defeats Nilus, who is armed with his bow and a simple blade. Nilus steals one or two strikes on his enemy, but the returned attacks from Ayurent leave Nilus bloodied and beaten. As Nilus begins to pass in and out of consciousness, Ayurent imparts a few words that are unclear, then he and his forces leave as quickly as they came.

Nilus withdraws his forces the next day. More than half of the Ayrens die in the attack, but not without taking some of the aggressors with them. Nilus hates the Tynir for the unexplained attack, but comes to appreciate the practical knowledge gained, as well as the less tangible lessons learned. No vows of vengeance are made, as personal matters like that would only cause the deaths of more Ayrens, and cost resources that the young captain just doesn't have.

Two weeks later, Nilus acquires a strange scythe in a dream, then wakes up holding it. He still possesses this weapon, and uses it with surprising efficiency.

Present day
The Great Library

"Nilus...", Naomi spoke for the first time in an hour. Nilus didn't reply.
"Hey, what's wrong?" she said, giving Nilus a soft nudge. Nilus snapped out of the distant memory, and drew a deep breath. He still felt the awkwardness about being left alive. Surely the Tynir would expect Nilus to at least attempt to kill him. Such was the way of honor among Ayrens who could afford it. Sparing their life permitted an attempt at revenge, while killing them demanded forgiveness.

Of course, Nilus' personal beliefs about honor were slightly different. Personal affairs took back seat to the grand scale of things. The Ayre were a dying people, and while the purpose of this council gathering was to discuss different issues, Nilus' presence here would hopefully lay the groundwork for having Idona join a unified group of nations instead of having to fight for everything they needed.

Just then, the I'nak woman spoke, "The I’nak are…happy to see the Eyktan.”

Nilus turned to Naomi and spoke,
"Not a word. This situation is just as convoluted as the one inside that council chamber, and we would do well to not make matters worse."
Nilus didn't dare reveal to Naomi what he knew about the two new arrivals. The conversation between the Jasidin and the Vatiennien had been interrupted by the Tynir, who warranted some sort of response from the priest. Nothing good could come from the Ayrens doing anything but keeping to themselves until addressed by the council.

"You keep saying that... a lot." Naomi said, a bit of frustration in her voice. "Let's be seen and not heard; don't poke around in their business; just stay quiet. How will we present ourselves if we remain silent the whole time?"
Again, the girl made a point. While she was slightly younger than Nilus, she wasn't lacking wisdom. Nilus looked her in her bright green eyes for a moment, but didn't have anything to counter her argument.

“You certainly are a master of first impressions.”

Boyd laughed a bit. “You only get one chance at them. Gotta’ make ‘em count.” The Captain said with his grin.

“You may not make many friends, but they will undoubtedly remember you.”

“I’m a pirate. We aren’t exactly the most liked bunch in Emoria. There’s a reputation to uphold, and I don’t want to disappoint.” There was sarcasm in every word. Boyd knew he could have strolled in there dressed as a Paladin, and it wouldn’t have mattered the moment he admitted to being a pirate. Their minds would have been made up. The title gave him an excuse to act anyway he pleased without needing a reason… Boyd had grown to fit the cast the world had molded.

“You may call me Ja’Dhannar, and I am glad to finally meet you in person.”

Boyd arched a brow at the last part, and shot Ja’Dhannar a curious glance. The Captain was aware of the Khajiiti’s spy tactics to gather their intelligence, but he hadn’t realized his exploits had made enough noise to catch their attention.

“Like I said, you are an easy person to remember.”

The pirate didn’t like the idea of being watched, or even more so the idea that someone or somebodies were keeping tabs on him. He hid his distain behind that smirk of his he had been flashing since he had arrived. “It’s good to have a fan. Sorry, though, I don’t give out autographs.” He played, but really was plotting when he would make his move. Boyd needed to figure out just how much the Khajiiti knew about him. It will need to be after the council. I’ll need to get him alone.

He pushed the thought aside as the Sorceress abruptly sprung from her seat excusing herself. She soon sparked a trend, for a number of other representatives did the same, the last of them being a priest from Vatiennien. He stormed out of the council like a man on a mission, sporting his best attempt at an angry face. Boyd grinned, shaking his head slightly at the man’s effort.

“If I didn’t know any better, I think he just issued you a challenge.” Ja’Dhannar chimed from beside him.

Boyd chuckled lightly. “Think so? It looked more like he was about to crap his pants to me.” The pirate said with a shrug.

The captain set studying the occupants at the table for a brief moment before he caught glimpse of the winged woman strangely gawking at his neighbor. His brown arched again. To think, I thought I was going to be odd one here.

“I think she’s fond of you, Mate.” Boyd said nudging Ja’Dhannar lightly.

Jean, for the first time in a very long time, had no idea how to react. A Tynir had come to the meeting, placed his hand on his shoulder and acted like they were all friends. Preposterous. Surely something was wrong with all of this. What exactly, however, Jean could not say. What was certain, though, was what the vatiennien was going to do. All that he hoped for before starting was that the Tynir and I’nak remembered the… difficulties that each others nations have had in the past. More exactly the diplomatic envoy sent to the Tynir… and who came back home nearly dead and the Vatiennien Expeditionary Force (V.E.F) incident with the I’nak.

“Yes, well,” started Jean, picking up the Tynir’s hand and taking it off of his shoulder, “in the more… civilized world, lycanthropy is a sickness, a disease and a curse. Of course, it’s nothing to be too horribly ashamed of; it is quite curable with His help and that of the Light. No worries should be expressed on that.”

Jean turned to the sorceress and smiled as if a doctor to a patient although still addressing the Tynir. “And yes, you are also right on the part that she is quite strong to be able to control such a condition. The least we can do, as you said, is be proud of her.” Jean was playing around. He meant what he said, of course, but he was aiming for something… else. The Vatiennien had decided to drastically change tactic. He was to be a whole new person for a small while. Until he could get what he wanted from this, that is.

Jean turned back to the two new arrivals. Jean smiled warmly to the I’nak and to the Tynir before throwing his arm around the Tynir. It was quite difficult considering how tall the man was, but Jean managed. Jean looked at the two newcomers in the eyes. “Let me introduce myself now. I am Jean de Poitiers, Senator and Priest of Vatienne, at your service.”

“Now, please, milady,” said Jean addressing himself to the sorceress, “friends,” said Jean to the Ayrens, “let us walk into that council and begin this! I am certain we can all continue in gracefulness and perfection that dignitaries of our state are expected to possess. I mean, what have we to hide among friends, right?” Jean said the last sentence by looking the Tynir man directly in the eye. He did not flinch, did not breathe. That one stare meant a thousand words. ‘Watch out’ being two of them.

Jean unwrapped his arm from the Tynir and walked over to the double doors. He took a firm grip on both of the handles and swung them open. Before entering the room, Jean let a quick whisper escape to Obsuracce’s ears: “My offer still hangs, Vatienne has her arms open for you.”

The priest waltzed in the council room with a huge grinning face. “Sorry about that, we just had to take some fresh air before we got this ball rolling. We have two new guests who have arrived that I will leave the pleasure of introducing themselves.” When Jean said two new guests had arrived, he shot a glare at Saint. Your innocent façade will now be taken away, thank you. Ah, yes, you can have the evil one back. Jean cackled in his interior. He would probably seem strange to councilors, but that was the point.

Jean whirled into his seat and leaned intently on the desk, as if eager for the meeting to start. The priest shot a discreet wink at Perun and the three master paladins present. Everything was going according to plan. Jean was to hit to birds with one stone. I mean, how great can it be to have all of the dignitaries of all the world powers present to hear every word he, or anyone else, could say. Not only that, but emotions were hung up because of the recent happenings of the kidnappings. Ah yes, everything was indeed going according to plan.

…Now if only the five remaining people outside could follow him inside to that he could lower the boom on his enemies.

Corbina had only been sitting a moment before she felt the presence of two individuals. She could already unmistakably detect the harsh smell of explosive mineral that doused the two Aryen of whom she had followed into the council room. It wasn’t as though they reeked of the substance, and if she was not diseased she probably would not have smelled it. But with her newfound senses the unique stench was unmistakable. She gave a confirmative glance up and was glad to see that while they were indeed surveying her, they were making no move toward conversation. One or both of them obviously needed a break of their own.

A moment of awkward silence was met with an abrupt intrusion of unwanted noise, as the Priest of Vatienne stormed out of the council room, slammed shut the doors and accused her openly of her lycanthropic condition. Her face jerked toward him, her mannerisms a fluctuation between the anger within and the desire to withhold that anger without. She remained sitting, but every part of her body was on edge. Everything in her was screaming fight or flight, but unfortunately he blocked the safety of the council room.

She didn’t know if it was the tranquility of the hall or a power beyond just serenity, but she managed to say nothing as he continued his speech of self-righteousness and healing. He knelt at her feet and she withheld the urge to spit on his face as he offered her his “Light”. Corbina knew what the “Light” really was. It was manipulation, control, assimilation to the mandatory ignorance that built up their nation. To be doused in their light was to loose everything that she was – and be willing to do it.

Still the desire to be rid of the disease was almost worth listening to the pompous man’s offer. She was still contemplating on how to respond when she was overwhelmed with an even more foreign scent; it reached her nose not long before its owner, and this surprise added to the awe that overcame her as she saw the two individuals approach her. They were tall, very tall, with unusual skin colorations to match their unusual mode of dress. She supposed she had not noticed them coming because of the Priest’s distraction.

The male foreigner spoke, and what he said was as foreign as he. “And what is wrong with her that requires such aid? There is little shame in conquering the Lycan virus. If anything, it simple speaks of the impressive strength she must possess, wouldn’t you agree?”All the time he had his hand on the priest, who seemed slightly irritated but, like Corbina, was holding back.

“You must be quite strong to be standing before us. Moreover, to be sent to a council of such importance…there is nothing wrong with her. If anything, we are the ones not fit to stand in a council with her, my dear priest.”

Corbina felt odd, on one side proud that someone would think positively of her condition, another side irritated that she was being discussed as if she were not even there. There was also the part of her who was culturally raised to hate lycanthropy, and anyone who discussed it as a blessing was a person who she must be wary of.

“But where are my manners? I am Siade Ayurent, Kon’ost of the Tynir, here on behalf of the Lady. It is a pleasure to meet you both. And this is Zahiik Tusohe, daughter of Ihanhi Enu’nat, and representative of the I’nak. She speaks little common, so you must forgive her if she has difficulty understanding you.”

Corbina stood and looked each one in the eyes, though she had to crane her neck to do so. She saw in the man’s eyes…she wasn’t sure what to call it, it was a sort of relativism or acceptance. But completely opposite to him the woman, who seemed somewhere between disgusted and competitive. Corbina’s defenses had quickly escalated, and she quickly realized that the Aryen couple who had witnessed the entire spectacle were on the brink of battle. And she thought she had anger issues. However, the woman attempted common and decency by greeting everyone with "The I’nak are…happy to see the Eyktan.”

Surprisingly, it was the Priest – what was his name? She’d forgotten – who broke the ice and greeted the strangers in grand fashion. There was more talk of her, as if she weren’t there, and then he was off into the council room…but not before whispering in her ear, “My offer still hangs, Vatienne has her arms open for you.” Corbina didn't have time to respond, but was glad she didn't have to. Everything in her screamed no, but she couldn't help but wonder if there was any truth to what he said. She had already lost much skill in magic, so losing that wasn't a big deal if it cured her of lycanthropy...but what about her womanhood? Her freedom? Were his lands really as bad as the High Priestess' described?

Corbina gave a slight smile to everyone else who was in the hall, and then quickly followed the Priest back inside. She realized that no matter how tense the room was, she was better off in the presence of a formal room than the unmonitored halls.

The muffled voices continued from the hallway and even Ja’Dhannar’s adept hearing was struggling just to make out a few words. So far, the only word of note he was able to decipher was “curse”… or perhaps it was “purse”. It was clear to him that there was some sort of argument, though the tones remained, level indicating that it wasn’t becoming heated. Probably because the priest wishes to live out his natural life span, one that would surely be cut short should the Tynir wish it so. Whether it was due to a curse or some sort of payoff, this information could be quite vital and warrants…

The Khajiiti’s train of thought was cut short by his instincts telling him that he was being closely observed. The only movement he made was his eyes snapping from the door to lock with the being who sat across from him. Venteux’s wide gaze surprised Ja’Dhannar and caused his head to jerk back only to the slightest degree. He wasn’t being spied on, he was being put under a magnifying glass without regards to social courtesy and could feel several more eyes flashing between him and the Ionairus. The Silencer was not comfortable with so much unwanted attention, but still managed to maintain his neutral mask.

“I think she’s fond of you, Mate.”

“You think so? How can you tell?”

The Khajiiti spoke quietly though his words were laced with sarcasm while never letting his gaze break from his observer’s. His informants told him that there would be a representative of the elemental plane present at this meeting and he looked forward to being able to observe them. He had only heard stories and never actually met somebody who had encountered them; it would have been a rare opportunity. Instead, Ja’Dhannar was the one being examined without an ounce of subtlety.

Ja’Dhannar was at a loss. He had no idea how to address the situation; it was an ambassador from the Elemental Plane of Air. Any drastic course of action could have disastrous consequences. Instead of taking action, he focused on maintaining his mask and trying figure out what exactly she was looking for.

Then she leaned in closer causing the Khajiiti’s eyes to widen slightly and arch a brow from his own curiosity. Yet more gazes fell upon him, but Ja’Dhannar no longer cared about them; his focus was solely upon Venteux. Hundreds of thoughts and emotions raced through his mind as he struggled to make sense of it; they were so sudden and without provocation. For a moment, he thought the Ionairus was using some sort of magic. Before he could act, the torrent in his mind subsided and replaced itself with feelings of absolute trust and unyielding friendship to the one whom sat before him.

As the Ionairus tilted her head and cooed in wonder, the realization of what happened hit Ja’Dhannar like a ton of bricks. This comprehension brought about a sequence of emotions that varied between relief, shock, and panic. His mind became too distracted to maintain the cold and calculating composure. Fortunately, his mask covered most of his face and the only indicator as to his emotions would be his eyes and erratic flicking of the tip of his tail.

Oooohhh.

Oh!

Oh no…

The motion of the large double doors pulled Ja’Dhannar out of his thoughts and reminded him of where he was and who was about to enter. Before the doors hand opened entirely, the Khajiiti broke his gaze away from Venteux’s and did his best to restore his indifferent appearance, though his expression showed distraction rather than neutrality. For whatever reason, fate saw it fit to bond the Khajiiti and the Ionairus into an unbreakable friendship. Ja’Dhannar was still distracted by the effects of the Kiseen to pay much attention to the others entering the room. No matter where he looked, his attention remained upon his peripheries to continue his focus on his new companion, Venteux.

The sun was shining, which was something that Asmodeaus could apreciate despite his affiliation and how he had been created so long ago. The sun brought blessed warmth that reduced the constant chills that shook the Sythen when they became cold. Asmodeaus was later than he should have been, but what could one say when they overslept at the last camp before arriving at the city.

Nolwe Osto was indeed an impressive city of the sort rarely seen. Sythen did not build cities, the race of nomadic serpent people where generally regarded as too primitive to do such a thing. They were scorned by many for their alien appearance and disturbing physical traits. But soon the boot would be on the other foot. For Morgarath was planning something, Asmodeaus had heard it from the Darkfather himself and that ensured that he believed it. The city though was interesting and as Asmodeaus proceeded to the library he felt himself drawing stares from those around him. His mount likely added to the attention, the scaled serpentine creature was almost as rare as the sythen and ultimately came from the same source.

He quickly dismounted upon arriving at the library and moving as quickly a cold blooded snake man could he proceeded into the building. He followed the quende guide without paying much attention to what was going on and before he knew it he had arrived at the council chamber. Asmodeaus' slightly slitted eyes flicked momentarily to the Tyrnir representative before he simply walked by and into the chamber. He saw the collection that had assembled and felt the inherent scorn for the lesser races, at least as he saw them. The only one he didn't feel the hostility towards was the corrupted elf that the Darkfather had remade. Asmodeaus knew better than to show recognition at the sight of Saint.



The newly pronounced Lady of Shadows was nervous. Less than a year ago she had been just another of the people living in the Mountains of Night. She like all the others had believed in Morgarath but she like that others had never thought that that would ever directly involve them as more than a subject. Then she had begun to awaken to powers, powers of darkness and shadow. At first they scared her and she ran when the soldiers, lowers, and even a few highers had come to collect her from where she had lived. But Morgarath himself had spoken with her and explained who she was. And it had been settled by that.

Nonetheless she now was worried, what if Morgarath had a made a mistake and she wasn't what the Dark lord thought she was. She was far from sure that she was despite the growing powers she had come into. She moved a hand and shadows danced on the far wall of the grand room she had been given for her own within the Dark Tower. For a second her thinly beautiful face flickered into a smile, there was something about the power that she enjoyed possessing.

But thoughts of power brought her back the thoughts of what would happen. Morgarath had seemed surprisingly charming and far more human than she had expected the God of darkness to be. But though he attracted her the lord of darkness also terrified her. She did not know what to make of herself anymore leading to the nervousness that she felt.

Then a thought of something she had promised she would do surfaced and brushed away some of the melancholy thoughts she had been having. Avarrine had told Saint that she would make sure his sister was alright while he was gone, and she took what she said seriously. It was also a welcome diversion from thinking about her own uncertain future.

She stood and the elegant silken robes she wore now swished around her as she left. She went to the room where Saint's sister Lairelosse was most of the time. Avarrine raised a delicate hand and knocked on the door. Her voice was soft "Lairelosse?" She asked quietly. "Your brother asked me to check on you. Do you mind if I come in?"

Venteux’s eyes are met by those of Ja’Dhannar. Normally, another being’s gaze may have caused her to snap out of her curious state or, at least, cause her to look away. She knew that in human cultures, at least, staring was thought to be rude. She tried not to stare. Well, she tried anyway.

However, when the Kajiti’s crimson eyes met the Ionairus’ violet orbs something was different. It was as if she couldn’t have removed her gaze even if she had wanted to. That was another thing. For some reason, she didn’t feel the need to back away, even when his tail began to flick back and forth. Any act of that sort would have normally caused her to keep her distance.

Venteux felt something inside her that she couldn’t explain. It was almost as if she knew this man. But that was all together impossible. She had never encountered one of his kind before, much less this particular one. She felt a strange kind of kinship with him. It was simultaneously a simple and complex feeling. It was as if she was affected by his very presence.

Her ears stay down and see finally looks away. She can feel an unusual heat in her body, yet her heart beat is slow and steady like always; it never fluctuated. Then why was she feeling flush? Venteux doesn’t know what to make of the odd feeling.

The Ionairus doesn’t have any time to ponder it, however. The doors open again and, this time, she can feel the darkness as it entered the room. The air, a thing Venteux was very sensitive to, just became a little bit colder.

Dasciis watched as the Jasidin sorceress stepped out of the room. The two Ayren's, noticing her departure as well, followed suite. The priest from Vatienne stood abrubtly, anger flaring across his face. The priest strode to the door, turned to shoot a glare at the rest of the representatives in the room, and promptly shut the heavy double-doors. Dasciis was tempted to shove the doors back open, but he held himself back. He hardly knew the woman, but he was sure she could handle a vexing priest. After all, he was only here now because of her.

Well, he thought, what happens now? He pulled out a chair and did his best to seat himself. His armor and sword never allowed that to be an easy task, and he did somewhat envy the ease with which the pirate flopped down into his own seat. Thinking of the pirate brought back his own anger. He was only a child when the pirates dealt the first blow to him. He could still hear her voice: soft, and laden with love and care.

"Be careful, Dasciis!" she called.
Dasciis stared out at the water, leaning over the banister as far as he could manage. The ship made streams of elongated ripples that slowly receded with the distant shoreline, sinking beneath the surface like the mountains themselves. This was the first time his father had let him come along on a journey. To sail across the seas and see new lands! Few outside of the Guild of Heroes or the Merchants Guild were so priveledged.
"Where are we going, again?" Dasciis asked, turning to face his father. He was standing at the back of the ship, on the roof of the captain's nest as his father had called it. A thin staircase led down to the central deck, and at the far end another set of staircases led to the his father's usual post: the large wheel that steered the ship. His father called that the helm.
"Kvatch." His father didn't elaborate this time. He had already told Dasciis several times about the cat-people, but Dasciis was always eager to hear more. His father walked up to her, wrapping his arms around her and kissing the head of the small babe wrapped tightly in her arms. Dasciis longed to be held in that embrace, but he told himself he was too old for that. He was ready to join father's merchant fleet, to help bring prosperity to their decaying city. He didn't need his mother to hold him.
"The fog is setting in, Captain," one of the crew members said. Dasciis turned back to the water. Already, the distant shore was invisible, blocked by a thickening wall of white mists. It happened so fast!
"Take him inside," his father said.
"What about Dasciis?" she asked. She looked directly at him, and Dasciis caught her eyes, a deep, dark blue, as he turned to look over his shoulder once more at his parents. "I don't like this."
"You'll have to get used to it, my love. This," he said, waving his arms around the ship, "will be his life." After those words, the entire ship shook. Dasciis fell forward and slammed against the railing, and more rocking threw him backward onto the decking.
"We're under attack!" one of the crewmen called.
Dasciis looked over at his father while trying to climb back to his feet. His father's face was white, terror and regret filling his eyes. The crew were looking at him, awaiting his response. His father looked at Dasciis, and suddenly his eyes and jaw hardened. "To arms!" he yelled. "Turn this ship back around. Get out of the mists!" The crew rushed into action. Another jolt sent the crew members stumbling. His mother, still trying to balance his baby brother in her arms, tried to keep her footing as she was swept toward the edge of the ship. His father reached for her, but another blast sent him reeling to the deck. His mother screamed as she banister holding her splintered, spilling her and her baby over the edge.
"Mother!" Dasciis screamed. He rushed to the spot where she had fallen over, reaching it just behind his father. His father stared over the edge on his hands and knees, searching for any sign of them. Yelling caught Dasciis attention, and he could see a large ship on the opposite side of their own, coming up next them and filled with raucus men waving swords.
"Father!" Dasciis yelled, pointing toward the invaders. His father was still searching the water, and Dasciis had to call again to get his attention. His father snarled, and then pushed himself up from the deck. He grabbed Dasciis by the arm and pulled him toward the captain's nest, shoving him through the open door and shutting it, closing Dasciis off from his father.

That was 25 years ago, Dasciis thought, glaring at the pirate. His father had joined the Guild of Heroes to redeem himself for his failure, and Dasciis had followed his footsteps. He had never been able to figure out which clan had attacked his father's vessel, but it didn't really matter. Pirate's all stood for the same thing. They were anarchists that preyed on the weak.

Dasciis forced his eyes away from the pirate as the door opened again, and the priest strode back into the room. His snarl had been replaced with a smile. The sorceress followed him in, trying to force a smile as well. Dasciis could see that she was at unease about something, though he was sure they all were. Everyone in this council room was face-to-face with an enemy.

A robed figure drifted by the group without saying a word. While the Ayre tend to have little or no familiarity with magic, Nilus noted how odd the...thing...that just walked past really was...

The priest, whom Nilus thought was half-insane at this point, returned the greeting to the Tynir with unusual friendliness before re-opening the council chamber doors and inviting everyone to follow.

Friends... Nilus thought. Pleasantries maybe, but I certainly wouldn't call this unusual man my friend.


Nilus exchanged glances with the Tynir and his I'nak companion as the Vatiennien and Jasidin walked back into the council chamber. The Flor medication was definitely working now, as the urge to eviscerate Ayurent was gone. For some reason, Nilus felt it necessary to speak with him before going into the council chamber. He motioned for Naomi to go on ahead, which she did.

Nilus approached the giant of a man, and outstretched a gloved hand, as if offering a handshake and formal introduction.

"Nilus of Izic, on behalf of Idona. I'm glad to see that the Tynir and I'nak were able to make the journey. There's no doubt that the council will be...turbulent...but it certainly keeps things interesting, I think."

Personal disputes aside, it was the best thing Nilus could have done. Idona couldn't afford a full blown war; her detached and scattered people weren't fit for such conflict. The entire world would hopefully soon be working together to solve this newfound problem, and any infighting, no matter how profitable for ambitious Ayren warlords, would only slow the investigation.

Jean had a smile as he waited for everyone to fill into the room. The sorceress followed, yes, but something Jean had never expected to did instead of the others. A Sythen, an obvious, undeniable servant of the Dark Lord, entered the room. The Vatiennien’s jaw dropped. His smile was completely gone. This Sythen looked, and therefore must be evil.

Jean just stared at the Sythen. Classically, he did not introduce himself. Typical. Not like anyone would greet him. Unlike Saint, who may have been something or someone to have commanded respect in the past, and who may even have a shred of hope left within his heart of goodness (although Jean thought…no, he knew it was all black), a Sythen is not the case. They are evil top to bottom. Savage and dark, they only live to serve the Dark Lord. For heavens sake they are his creation. Then again, that was only from the tales of the Ancestors, and jean knew all too well how reliable that was.

The stare Jean gave the Sythen was indescribable. Disbelief, anger... and sadness. Jean knew these creatures lived impossibly long. In fact, this very Sythen standing in front of him could have been present during the wars between Vatienne and the Mountains of Night. The Sythen could have killed the priest’s own ancestor, yet Jean would never know. Jean was beside himself in a white rage. Yet, he controlled himself. His hand, however, didn't show as much control as the priest did. It started shaking violently. In fact, it was shaking so that Jean had to dissimulate it beneath his cloak. Again, all of this was learnt by the tales of old, mildly reliable at the best.

Eventually, Jean slowly, calmly turned his head to Saila, giving her a confused look. No sarcasm was present, no personal pride to be gained. His stare was enough to show that, from the bottom of his heart, he non-verbally asked why she had allowed this being to show up. This was for him and his people’s sake… and even for her people’s sake for they live almost as long as the damn Sythen and fought alongside Vatienne against this very foe. As far as Jean and Vatienne is concerned, none of the members of The Coalition of old were willing, or have ever been willing, to negotiate forgiveness or peace with the Mountains of Night. Meaning, technically, the only thing standing between Vatienne a full-out war is time and a false sense of victory. Doesn't time heals all wounds? Well, at least she tries. Was there a wound to be healed in the first place?

Sadness and regret could be read on Jean’s inquisitive face. Jean only hoped Saila would understand his look and see what this thing being present here truly meant to him… and everyone else. Jean’s head slowly turned back to the front door, and the Sythen.

Jean was hurting from the inside and it was visible. Anyone who could look at his eyes for that moment could see the only thing admirable of this priest: a middle-aged man that loved his country a lot, if not too much, and wanted nothing but the best for it. However, sometimes, by wanting the best, you can hurt other people and even the thing your trying to help in the process. By wanting the best, you want respect and peace. By wanting the best, you want to commemorate those who have fallen in your name and that have given their lives to protect the way of life that everyone enjoys today. By wanting the best, you want to honor those who still serve in the vatiennien Imperial Guard and who continue to fight in your name, for you. It is excessively hard to get the best when something like what is standing in front of Jean now, that which embodies everything a nation and a people, his people, stand for. Be it Good, on any form, by any religion, by any man. He who stands against that is His enemy. And that enemy is standing before Jean right now.

With those kinds of emotions, Jean just stares into the Sythen’s eyes. A long, long stare. The stare was similar to that he had given the Tynir, only more intense, more powerful… more emotional and meaningful. The emotion had already begun clouding his judgement and rationnality, already the history courses of the Prusse College seemed to get fuzzy.

Jean kept his mouth shut and waited for something to happen.

There was another small ripple, but once she had spoken, it evaporated as all the others had. The Library’s magick would likely be highly tuned to this room by that point, ready for anything that could erupt.

Fionu – or rather, Saint – made his apology, and Saila accepted it graciously. “It is no intrusion for the Mountains of Night to make themselves known at this Council, for it is open to all nations that wish to attend.”

Sadness passed through her when he locked gazes with her. His eyes were still the brilliant green of when she had known him as her mentor, but they had become shadowed, as if he had seen and done things that had scarred his very soul. What had he done? Why had he done them? Her eyes were likely to hold those very questions, but she didn’t try to hide them.

“It has been a long time. The option will always be open as it always has been.” The accusation was subtle, but it was still there, and she knew he wouldn’t miss it. He could have visited her, but he had made choices that prevented him from seeing her, and he would likely make subconscious excuses to keep himself from her in the future, but she wanted him to know that should he ever desire to see her again, she would welcome him. His changed state would not cause her to flee from him in horror. The sentimentality of their linked pasts would ensure that.

The Pirate who soon entered received her greeting and her request that he keep himself civilized just as it seemed he would brush his lips against her hand. Her pulse quickened a little with both curiosity and repulsion. She detected the scent of saltiness from both the sea and his sweat. It was a scent that would be considered masculine, but she found very little appeal. Quendi didn’t have the same sort of salty scent of human sweat even after hard labour, and she found that more appealing than the smell of this pirate. She also worried about whatever diseases he may have contracted, and she determined to keep her hand from her face once he released it, untainted.

She was pleased when the man seated himself, but his comment to another delegate caused her to shake her head. The Perequendë had met very few pirates, but they all seemed to lack proper, civilized manners, speaking and doing whatever they felt. It was quite irritating.

It was then that the woman of the swamplands seemed to become restless, and she requested permission to leave the room. This was granted without a second thought except to worry about the woman. There was something about her that raised Sailahína’s curiosity though it seemed to be an air of genuine danger that surrounded the other. The Ayren soon followed, and she found herself hoping that they wouldn’t go too far. If the Council was to begin, and they couldn’t easily be found, it would have to be delayed further until they could be brought back.

Sailahína Carnil was familiar with many forms of magick though she did not have a gift for the art herself. However, she tensed as she noted a blue glow from the corner of her eye. She wasn’t sure what was happening until she noted Venteux no longer held a full sized staff but a small thing the size of a key. Of course, the Library would have protected all of them had it been some sort of attack, but it seemed out of place to perform magick in a room filled with delegates.

The Perequendë could understand the Ionairus’ wanting to have the staff on her person while not having it as a cumbersome object in hand, so she said nothing.

The Thendári seated themselves as calmly and silently as they had stood moments earlier. They were a beautiful race of beings in Saila’s opinion. However, she felt their intense stillness made them seem a little colder, a little stiffer though when they did move, they were incredibly graceful.

A large twinge of irritation flickered through Saila when de Poitiers left the room and practically slammed the doors closed. She tolerated him and respected him as a good person with which to have numerous debates, and she respected his station, but she would not tolerate his acting so outlandishly. There were two sets of doors, and both were to remain open until the Council’s beginning.

If he thought his actions would keep her frightened of him enough to keep her away, he was wrong. She knew the Library would always protect, but she felt it was important to keep the room open at both ends and to ensure that everyone felt welcomed. If one was to happen upon those closed doors, they may feel that they were too late, that they would have to be turned away.

Of course, to open those doors immediately would reflect badly on her, and it would show little respect for the Priest though many probably thought by now that he deserved little respect from the way he had handled himself to that point.

The Perequendë waited a few moments, listening carefully to the sounds beyond the double doors. It was only when new voices seemed to enter and Ja’Dannar said something worrisome that she realized it was time to open those doors.

Just as she moved to them, ready to open them, they parted to reveal the Priest accompanied by two large creatures whose images caused her eyes to widen in surprise and fascination. Never before had she met a member of this race, but they were unmistakable from their descriptions in manuscripts. These must be the mighty Tynir or perhaps the I’nak.

Tearing her eyes from the two, she looked at the man of Vatienne. “Monsieur de Poitiers, please keep yourself calm in the future. Displays like the one you showed will not be tolerated in this room.” Saila’s voice was soft enough that it would be difficult for others to hear but loud enough that the Priest would hear her fine. She didn’t wish to make a scene.

Her attention returned to the Tynir. They were incredibly tall, towering over her lithe frame and causing her to have to tip her head back to get a better look at them. “Welcome to the Great Library of Nolwë Osto. It is a pleasant surprise to see that you were able to make it to this Council. We had not heard word, so we did not know to expect you. I am Sailahína Carnil, representative of this city/state. Please, have a seat where you wish.” She stepped aside for them and for the others who were returning.

It was shortly after this that an even more unexpected delegate arrived. He was darkly cloaked, and he was serpentine in appearance. Saila knew very little about his kind other than their nomadic natures. The Sythen had never given her cause to mistrust them though she was given to a peculiar creepy feeling when she witnessed them. Of course, this was only the second of that race that she had ever seen, and she had never spoken to the other who had been in the Great Library years earlier. Perhaps this would be a good learning experience?

She welcomed him warmly, hinting that she desired for him to introduce himself to the Council. She informed him that he could sit anywhere he chose, for the Council would soon begin.

The Perequendë caught the Priest’s confused look, and she merely shook her head very subtly at him. All were welcome to this Council. Perhaps the nomadic race had had a leader kidnapped, too, or perhaps they had merely heard of the Council and desired to be a part of it. Regardless, she would allow it. She harbored no ill feelings toward the Sythen.

She ignored his saddened visage. She had been given direct instructions on what would be permitted at this Council. Perhaps when de Poitiers held a Council in Vatienne, he could discriminate against whomever he wished and set bans on those not permitted to attend. However, this was her homeland, and she was the keeper of this gathering, and she would not give disrespect and animosity based on appearances or affiliations.

As the remaining delegates took their seats, Saila knew she could not delay the Council any longer. Those who had not arrived could either be late or not come at all. Either way, their absence would surely be discussed along with everything else that would be mentioned.

The Perequendë moved around the room, closing the four doors of the two exits for privacy before walking to her seat at the head of the table. She offered a soft smile to those present. “I believe that it is time to begin this meeting. We have waited for those delegates who have no arrived long enough.

"I would like to proceed in an orderly manner. Every nation will be heard."

Venteux watched closely as new delegates arrived. Every time she thought that no others would show, she was sadly mistaken. There was always another mysterious new person to walk through the grand double doors. It seemed never ending. It wasn’t until Saila closed the doors of the Council Room for the final time that she could finally feel at peace.

But there were so many here already. How many had been kidnapped? How many sad stories would be revealed? How many heads of state and senators, kings and queens, heroes and knights, inventors and magicians, healers and soldiers… The list went on and on. How many people from all over Emoria had been taken?

There was so much she didn’t know. Who were the two bestial-looking people who had just walked in? Who was the serpent-like one whom she felt such a strange aura from? Who was the dark elf really and why had he sided with her enemy? Who was the feline man across from her who now felt so familiar?

Venteux couldn’t have been happier that the Council would finally begin. Finally, she would get answers for the burning questions that ailed her troubled mind. But she would likely find more questions than answers. Many things would likely be revealed, but they will certainly bring more harrowing questions. It seemed to Venteux that the whole of Emoria was here in this very room.

Venteux had a nation to represent. No, that was not right. She had four nations to represent. She would stand for the Four Elemental Planes. Her eyes are sad but soon find a new light in their purple haze. I do have a purpose here, she reminds herself. The Ionairus will have to speak for the Elemental Planes – all of them. There was much at stake here and Venteux, despite her questioning, needed to represent the four nations to many who would be seeing the Elementals as a unified front for the first time.

As Saila officially, and finally, proclaimed the meeting open, she surprisingly called on Jean to ‘break the ice’. He felt a wave of relief. Finally, this thing was to begin. On the agenda: exposing certain ‘diplomats’. The first thing to do, however, was to explain the vatiennien kidnapping itself.

After waiting for a couple seconds and looking around the room, Jean stood up from his seat. He slightly bowed his head in direction to Saila before looking at everyone present. Outstandingly, Jean had the character to face Saint, the Sythen-thing, the Tynir and the I’nak without making a disgusted face. Jean’s job had begun. It was time to be professional.

The priest folded his arms behind his back before walking to the window of the room. “Well, it looks like I am going to begin this thing. I know some of you would rather me not to because of my childish demeanor and aggressive ramblings I have shot out to some of you, but I am honestly sorry,” declared Jean all while facing the outside of the room and making everyone look at his back.

Jean slowly turned his entire body around as to face the assembly. His gaze was sincere. “I hope you may all find it within you to forgive me… and maybe give me another chance?” Jean started to pace the room back in forth. Jean loved to pace: it helped him concentrate. Besides, he is a senator: senators pace.

“I will begin by explaining to you the reason of my presence here. It happened some time ago around 9:42 on a Friday night. The Priestari Senatarum, which is the official title of a man who holds both function in the clergy and in the Imperial Senate of Vatienne, Arthur Sullivan took his regular evening stroll. As he usually would, of course I would know because I have accompanied him on many occasions for he is a gentle, charismatic old man, would walk from the Senate building, to the elven district, through the Slums and eventually back to his home and loving family. Only on that night, M. Sullivan did not arrive home.

Immediately, a search was organized. Such a powerful priest and and influential man, for he was friend of the Papus and advisor to the Emperor, that had gone missing ignited a tsunami of reactions and outbursts. Truly enough, we never found dear Sully. In his stead, we found something much darker. We did not find the joyous visage of M. Arthur, nor did we even find his carcass, no, instead we found a patch, if you will, a patch of darkness in our fair city of Light.

Indeed, at the entrance of the elven district, we found that in a spot of about a couple meters squared, a taint of foul magic was detected. It stood out like a sore thumb, for every brick and grain of sand in my country is blessed by the Light and His Holiness. The only question that was available to us was ‘How’ and ‘Who’.

Now, I would hate to start pointing fingers, for I have asked pardon and reconciliation for my past actions, but…” Jean finally stopped pacing. He looked at Saint square in the eye.

“I think that there is only place dark enough to harbor such foul magic. The I’nak are too reclusive, the Tynir too melee oriented and this particular magic is not like that of the swampland sorceress’. Vatienne’s eyes immediately turned to the Mountains of Night, home of our sworn enemy, Morgarath.”

Jean’s gaze never left Saint.

“I do not exclude the possibility that Morgarath may be acting on his own, but if that is the case, I feel obliged to inform the delegate of said country to help him counter the menace erupting from his ‘hardworking’ and ‘honest’ country so it does not corrupt its citizens. I would definitely like to believe what this delegate said about his country to be true, but we have to be realistic.”

Jean finally looked away. He walked towards his seat and added only one thing before sitting. “That is all I have to say for now. Thank you for your attention and I hope maybe I have opened, if just a little bit, your eyes to my actions and reality of the situation.”

With that, the vatiennien priest took a seat and waited impatiently for another person to speak.