Prologue: The Council of Nolwë Osto - Completed

Venteux listened quietly as the first delegate took the floor.

It was the priest and the man gave a story that was similar to what she would tell: a kidnapping of a good and powerful man laced with strange evidence that suggested the worst. Her country would not be making such hasty accusations, however. Allegiance with the Shadow had not been ruled out – in fact, not much had been figured out yet about the disappearance that had sent the United Elemental Nations into an uproar. That was one of the reasons that the U.E.N. even sent a representative in the first place; usually, they were content to stay out of the politics of the Material Plane.

Yet, when an ambassador to one of the planes is kidnapped while on the Material Plane, everything changes.

Venteux was startled out of her musing by the voice of Saila calling her name. She rose from her chair with her eyes closed. She tried desperately to compose her thoughts. This was it. In a few seconds, she would be informing the Council of everything she knew about the disappearance of the Ionairus, Dawndeux.

Venteux cleared her throat, but it sounded more like a chirp than a growl. She had to adjust her vocal cords so that she could speak the common tongue. As she stops her fidgeting, she turns to face the delegates. Venteux begins her explanation, speaking very deliberately in Common.

“Three days ago, at around eleven o’ three in the morning, Material Plane Standard Time, the ambassador to the Plane of Air and to the Ionairus was reported by the guards at the gate-post of the portal to the Plane of Air to have left the plane for the Material one. All I can honestly tell the Council, by my vows as a Portal Guardian, is that the portal is in the sky; I am not allowed to divulge any further information on its location. Dawndeux was to fly, after crossing the portal, to the city of Nolwë Osto to do much needed research on runic magic. He never made it there and neither did his party, which consisted of six Ionairus, six Dusk Runners and two messenger V-Doves. The only reason the Ionairus found out about the disappearance so early was that one of the V-Doves had managed to escape its captors, likely in the struggle. It was trained to fly to the portal entrance and was found half-conscious by a guard. I beg of the Council to take my country’s word that evidence was found a mere seventeen miles from the portal’s location. There were blood stains and feathers found on a floating lode-rock. It was clear a struggle had ensued by the footprints and smears left on the surface. There were strange claw marks that suggested a bestial creature – perhaps many – had attacked and taken the party hostage. We do not know what these creatures were or where they came from. What we do know is that the creatures must be able to fly and that they possessed a dark aura that hung for hours about the scene. The only salvageable piece that was found was an Ionairus flute. This was known to be on Dawndeux’s person regularly.”

Venteux held a long flute in her hands. It was made of a little purple-colored reed and the end was spiraled in a flat curl. It had a circular design of a faintly glowing blue cut into it.

She paused before proceeding.

“The three remaining ambassadors called together the Ancient Council of the Elements. This council only meets in dire circumstances. They decided to send a delegate to this meeting to reveal the information I have shared with you. K’to Rav-Flame, Auh’zendar Nai and Deztine Farrunner are not present for fear of another incident. Instead, I was appointed representative of the entire Ancient Council to speak for them.”

Her voice shows the faintest hesitation at the last sentence.

“The Raafurie, Zenmistuu, Sirearthen and Ionairus, of their respective planes, will aid this council in any way they can to find the person responsible for these disappearances."

With a nod of gratitude and a bit of relief, Venteux takes her seat as the Council proceeds.

In the mountains, there is always something awake. Guards patrol the walls of Morgarath’s stronghold, spiders eat the helpless flies trapped inside of webs, wolves and worse tear their prey apart with inhuman strength before gorging themselves, and deep within the spire, a single life flickers briefly as the youngest Turi Aquienmor Nutar to live stirs as she wakes from her slumber. Her eyes open and she wakes from her sleep, but it is not the obsidian and basalt walls of the spire that she sees. Her consciousness is not tied to her senses, but free to roam as it will. It flies throughout time, stopping at a point here, a moment there. Short stops, as would a water strider moving from one side of a pond to another. And as a water strider, she is not free to immerse herself deeper, but always holds herself just above the raging torrent of time that other beings experienced. That river frightened her, and she could be swept away so easily.

Lairelosse awoke in the forests of her birth, sunlight streaming through the tent flap onto her face. She was… how old? By her size, and the shape of her body, she guessed twenty to twenty five. Still a child, then. Mother entered the tent, holding a bowl of broth, still steaming. Lairelosse looked at her appreciatively, and smiled as she took it, supping from the bowl before laying it on the ground to dress herself. They exchanged no words. Throwing open the tent flap, broth in hand, Lairelosse spied old Cullanu chopping wood. She wandered towards him, and asked him for news. The Drenata had been raiding again, heavily. Kill them, whispered the First. Burn them as you do everything. Burn everything. Burn the life from them. Also and more importantly, Nordhor had ridden his first wolf yesterday, so Laira had best watch out if she didn’t welcome his first advances as a man. Worthless, said the Second. More useful dead, more useful decaying. Life would be easier. Just stab the man and leave him there in his life’s blood. Don’t look back. Lairelosse ignored them.

In several years, Cullanu’s mate would be dead. She would die giving birth to his third child, unusual for Quendi, even the Hryaya. He would never recover from that trauma, and then eventually, Lairelosse herself would kill him. Luckily, that was decades from now. Right now, she could just enjoy his company, and say as she always said on this day.

“Thank you for your warning, elder. I am sure that both the Drenata and young Nordhor will think twice before coming near me with your careful guard.”

Simply an outright lie. The drenata went wherever they damn well pleased, and she already knew that Nordhor would steal her first kiss today. She’d lived through it twice already, and once again it was not a moment she relished. Still, she’d said those exact phrases twice before as well, and it was an old habit. Still, she could already feel herself slipping away from this moment, and ready to live another.

Lairelosse found herself walking in a plain entirely of ash. Much taller than moments ago, she judged herself to be much, much older. The lowers surely had been supplied by the Dark Lord, though this was by far the latest she had ever been. She had no idea where she was, and the wind seemed to whip the ash into her face, making her pull her hood down and the lowers that traveled with her hunch. As she stood with her face to the wind, though, she heard a growl.

Lairelosse tried to call upon the voices that protected her, tried and failed. There was simply silence within her, cold, empty, and alone. She had no idea where she was, and even the simplest of manipulations eluded her. As massive wolf-like things stood from the ash and dusted themselves, eyes glinting with feral intelligence, she realized that the voices were gone. There was nothing here. Less than nothing. She could not even feel the spirits that made up the land and the creatures through the stifling ash.

Lairelosse woke and immediately kindled shadow-flame. Hurling it about in an effort to defend herself, her quarters in Morgarath’s spire began to blaze in the false heat. Dark flames licked the wall hangings, much sharper than their true counterparts, and Lairelosse realized where she was immediately. Gathering the influence of the Third and First, she shielded herself, strode from her bed, and punched a hole cleanly through her door. Turning the handle from the outside, she let herself out, turning to the woman that had just knocked, the human that the dark lord had been infatuated with recently. “Good morning”, she intoned simply, as the chamber burned. The shadow flame produced no smoke, simply consumed, and only moments later, there was once again nothing but bare rock and a scorched bedframe inside the room. Ashes, like in her other experience. The voices were back, though, in all of their horrible glory. She didn’t know whether to feel comforted of disappointed. Her eyes were downcast upon the floor, ashamed of the destruction she had caused. She had been getting better!

Dasciis listened to each account of kidnapping from both Vatienne and the Elemental Plane of Air. He realized that both scenarios were quite similar to what had happened in Spire. When the elven hostess called upon him to speak next, Dasciis wasted no time.

"Our own story is quite similar, I'm afraid. The Guildmaster of Spire's Guild of Heroes disappeared while out on a mission. We received word of him beginning his return journey, but the guildmaster never made it to Spire. We searched the lands of Valinyx in which he was known to be traveling through, but we found little evidence of foul play. His ship remained docked in Avalis, and the city's guards reported that he had not passed through the gates. If he had boarded his ship, we would assume that he was lost at sea. Fortunately, that is not the case.
"Torser marched north from Traemador to Valinyx, and he disappeared somewhere in between. With a sizeable contingent of our Heroes accompanying him, we find it unlikely that anything but a strong force could have subdued them."

Dasciis nodded toward the hostess, in thanks for the opportunity to speak, and then sat back down in his seat. Hopefully, after everyone related their own tales of abduction, they would have enough clues to point a finger at the proper culprit. He hoped, however, that the finger couldn't point to anyone in this room. Morgarath was dead as far as the accounts told, and other than the dark beasts and "ghosts" that haunted the mountains and passes around Spire, there were no signs of him returning.

Boyd listened very carefully as the representatives explained their nations kidnappings. While he was fairly certain his own clan had no hand in their happenings – there was still the possibility that Pothorst, and Adorno could have been responsible. Each story shared the fact that an important figure had been the victim, but the mysteries behind the accounts were what didn’t match the mark of piracy. Where’s the motive? No ransom letter? No hostage negotiations? If it was one of the pirating clans there would be a known angle, he thought.

Two days ago
Upon the vessel Her Sanzunetta tal-Saħar

There was a knock at the captain’s quarter’s door.

“Captain?”

Boyd turned from where he was staring out his chamber’s porthole. “Enter.”

The door opened with Mak, Boyd’s first mate, entering. He was a rugged, tough, and capable pirate that was a little less eccentric than his Captain. “A messenger bird has arrived. It bears word from Lady Voras.” Mak held up a sealed scroll.

Boyd made his way around the desk that separated the two. “Wonderful,” he said sarcastically snatching the letter from the fellow pirate, and motioning for him to leave. Mak nodded before closing the door on his way out.

My Dearest Boyd,

I write to you to stress the importance of your task. I know not fully of what Neess, or Mosonn are up to, but their idiocy knows no bounds. They’re powerful and foolish enough to pull such a heist. If that be it may, I only hope we don’t burn along with them. Do whatever it takes to ensure the Clans are not held responsible, lie, bribe, or even kill if it means shifting the blame. I suggest volunteering your services to the council. It will be a sign of good faith, and if these doings are some plot to have Emoria unite against the Clans, you will be there to stop such a thing from happening. I know you won’t fail me.

Sincerely, Ada

Saila was turning onto the Ayren Warrior to have him say his peace when Boyd interjected. He abruptly sprung from his chair clearing his throat with a loud cough. “Ahem!”

“For those of you who haven’t had the pleasure, I’m Captain Waters ambassador of the Clan of Erlingsson, representing Lady Voras. She regrets not being here today, but she had pressing matters to attend to.” Boyd lied with a smile.

“She did, however, prepare a letter that she wished me to share,” he said as he reached into his coat retrieving a scroll. “Dear…” Boyd paused, looking from the scroll to scan those at the table before letting his eyes dart back to the letter. “Dear, delegates of Emoria’s great nations, I apologize for not being present today. In my stead, I send my finest, most courageous and charming pirate, Captain Waters...” His grin stretched, and he went back to reading. “My deepest condolences go out to you and your countries losses. While Emoria and the Pirating Clans have never seen eye to eye – even we can see Emoria is facing dark times. We support whatever action the Council deems fit to solve these crimes. I offer Captain Waters’ aid, he will assist in any way he can. Humbly yours, Ada Voras.”

Boyd looked up from the scroll. “Yeop, that’s pretty much it.” He said with a nod, and flopped back into his seat. He glanced over at the sorceress who was adjacent to him and randomly flashed her the inside of the parchment he had been reading. It was completely blank. Not one drop of ink anywhere on it. The pirate gave her a wink before quickly stuffing the scroll into his coat.

Sailahína Carnil seated herself at the head of the table. Worry was sweeping through her. Where were the delegates from the Sretin Providences? Where were the ambassadors of Fermata? What about the other nations who should have arrived but failed to accomplish such a feat? It was already an incredible display of power to be able to make powerful figures disappear, but to hinder an entire nation? Perhaps she was over reacting. They may simply be late, or they may have changed their minds about arriving.

The lack of anyone from the Sretin Providences is what worried her the most. Had they decided not to come or had they known they were going to be late, they would have sent word. Saila’s mother was from that land, so the Perequendë had made a point of learning much of that land and of its customs, including its political environment just as she had done for Forya, the eastern forest territory of Taurë Arda in which her father had been raised.

Despite these worries, she knew she had a council to direct. She must maintain as calm and as orderly an environment as possible. With this in mind, she called up Jean de Poitiers of Vatienne to speak first. The sooner he was able to get his tale and his mission into the open, the less likely he would be to interrupt others while they spoke. At least, this was her hope. Nothing was certain with the brash, closed-minded Priest.

Unsurprisingly, he chose to maintain an air of dramatics. He apologized for having wronged some who were present which pleased the maiden Carnil, but though it seemed sincere, she wasn’t entirely convinced that he his apology was a meaningful one.

Once he had told his story, he immediately began to voice his speculations and accusations. The only reason she did not try to silence him was because he had every right to speak his piece. Besides, the officials of Nolwë Osto had found residues of dark magic where the battle between the owner of the Library and her captor had had their great battle. Those traces were thought to be from the Mountains of Night, but it could not be proven at this time.

Next, she chose Venteux of the Plane of Air to speak. She had been very quiet while the delegates had gathered, and Saila felt it was time for the Ionairus to finally speak. Besides, it was possible that it would be difficult to find an opening for the quiet, winged woman to speak if things escalated into chaos.

Saila had not heard of the events that had occurred with the leader of the Plane of Air, and it was surprising to learn that someone could have been kidnapped despite having such a heavy guard. The power behind it must have been immense, even more than originally anticipated. She felt the hair on her arms rise at the thought. They were all in grave danger.

It was also shocking to hear of the Portal. She had only just found a manuscript that detailed the knowledge of a portal, something that was obviously mean to be a secret from most. Yet Venteux had spoken of it as if it was common knowledge though she refrained from giving it a definite location. It felt a little like a slap in the face that the Ionairus who had spoken with Saila enough that there was at least a small sense of friendship should keep this knowledge from her only to tell a room filled with strangers, some of questionable loyalty.

Locking her offense deep within her for the time being, she resumed her duty and called upon Daciis Arkandis of Spire to speak. His tale was much like the rest, but his only speculation was of great strength.

As she was going to call upon another, chaos began to crack its way through her orderly procedure. The Pirate whose rudeness knew no bounds interrupted before she could finish declaring who she wanted to speak next. He announced his name, his position, and his nation. He began to read from a letter, but it sounded more like something improvised than something read. Though she held this suspicion, she said nothing. She wasn’t certain that she believed rowdy pirates were behind the kidnappings. The magick had been dark and powerful, something the pirates didn’t seem to possess. Of course, it wasn’t impossible. It was simply improbably.

She needed to get the situation under control. Perhaps declaring her story would ground things. After all, Taurë Arda was present for that one kidnapping, so that would at least get the Quendíva purpose out of the way along with hers. Perhaps her saying something about the nature of the magick left behind could help others speculate, too. She only hoped Saint wouldn’t suffer too much through said speculation.

“Thank you, Captain Waters, for sharing the… letter.” She still wasn’t convinced it was real, but she didn’t have any proof, and she wouldn’t demand he prove its honesty, especially when she didn’t feel it would bring anything constructive to the table. She stood to speak again.

“From Nolwë Osto, Handilyë Varyamë, was reportedly kidnapped. She was in her home during the early morning hours when a battle occurred that left her flat in ruins with consider damage to neighboring buildings. As a one of the last of direct Quendi Enya lineage and as one of the major owners of the Great Library, her disappearance concerns all of Nolwë Osto and Taurë Arda.

“There were magickal residues left in the destruction. Some of it was identified with her signature, but much of it was of no identifiable nature. All that is known is that it is very dark and incredibly powerful. I do not know of any nations that could have produced such magick, but I invite speculation when it is your turn to speak and after all have said what they came to state.” She reseated herself and called on the next speaker.

Corbina took mental notes during each official presentation of the members of the council, trying her best to commit the details to memory. She pondered on the absence of Fermata, and if those at home were still managing the already shaky trade with them. If they were, she could perhaps lend information to the council on the doings of this absent country.

She wished that she had brought Gabriel into the council. She hadn't known the policy on "animals" in the council room, and she did not want anyone to know that he could speak, so she left him outside, to fly about and observe the city while she was indoors. After the council, she would call him, recite all of the information she had gathered, and then he would fly back home and tell the High Priestess of her clan, Fire.

Saila, who was the hostess, held control over the order of the council, strictly out of courtesy. Courtesy was what kept those within in check, and courtesy was what was violated as the pirate rudely interrupted another to make his claims. She could already tell by the lack of movement in his eyes that he was not reading from the letter, and her thoughts were only confirmed as he flashed her the surface of a blank page. She wanted to rip the page from his fingers and display them to the council, but he quickly tucked it back into his coat. She was left wondering if that meant his statement was heartfelt, instead of reiterated thoughts of another, or just lies from atop his head. Was there a difference between a lie and a thought in the mind of someone so savage?

Immediately she felt guilty, for she knew that there were some who thought she was savage as well. Everyone in that council room deserved at least some respect, regardless of where they came from. A person should be measured by their own skills and values, not the values of their kin.

Saila spoke next, and for whatever reason, her story chilled Corbina to the bone. Perhaps, because she was reliant upon the balance of the magical world, the evidence for an unlawful magic possibly as powerful as Wee Jas herself gave Corbina much fear. She remembered stories of old of Saves who deserted her country to work dark magic in times of old. She never knew what happened to these men, if they died trying to gain powers beyond their ability to handle, or if they succeeded and interbreeded somewhere to become a new race of men that she had not yet come across. She looked around the room, searching for traces of ancient Jasidin men among the faces who presented themselves. She did not see any, but it didn't mean they weren't there, the traits faded to an all but untraceable statement of a time so long ago.

The sorceress was suprised when Saila called upon her next. She had come here not to speak, but to listen, but she supposed that her silence would not be accepted readily by the council. She began to stand, letting the side of the crossbow hit her neighbor pirate in the head as she erected herself. "Excuse me," she muttered to him in fake apology.

"I am Corbina Obscuracce, of Jasidin Fire Clan. I have been sent here to learn the purpose of this council and report it to my High Priestess. I have not anything to contribute, Jasidin lands remain protected from unknown evils." She was unsure if she should remain standing, but did not recall Saila dismissing anyone, and supposed that she could sit down whenever she was finished. She sat back down, careful not to let her weapon bump the pirate again, for she was sure that he wasn't dumb enough to recieve the same insult twice.

Ja’Dhannar’s fixation upon Venteux was broken once the other delegates began speaking. He listened in silence as they either reported on the kidnappings of influential figures among their countries or reassured those present that it wasn’t their governments who were responsible. It was certainly a surprise to him when Venteux told of the kidnapping from the Plane of Air, speaking of realms and species that were legends and stories to most. The Khajiiti, himself, would have been skeptical about such a boast had it not been delivered from a being who actually inhabited such a mythical realm.

Although none, save for one or two, actually pointed a proverbial finger, all signs pointed towards a powerful and unknown foe. In this era of cultural and economic melding, it left few potential candidates. Most of which were located in the unknown world that is the southern continent of Renrijra Krin.

Finally, it was time for Kvatch’s voice to be heard. Ja’Dhannar rose before the committee and submitted his nation’s findings to those present.

“Several moons ago Khajiiti scouts venturing to the land of Korun Otak, the country native to the Tynir, reported unusual behavior among their tribes. They were able to conclude that the tribes were once again unifying for a reason not yet known to us. That discovery alone was enough for Kvatch to prepare to defend its borders. For those who are unfamiliar with our history, it was this union of Tynir tribes that nearly wiped my race out of existence several hundred years ago; so our concern with this reunification is well-founded.”

“However, that turned out to be a precursor to the true threat that lurked further into their land. Further reconnaissance parties reported warriors clad in steel; something that was all but unheard of is now a common sighting as of a few months ago. Such a finding was indeed grim news for Kvatch, but it wasn’t as unsettling as the question: Who provided them their armaments? These were expertly crafted wares, not ones expected to be seen from a nation who had only recently begun to practice forging and smithing. Furthermore, metal, even it its unrefined form is a rarity at best in the marshes of Renrijra Krin; somebody was not only supplying the material, but also the formed products to the Tynir.”

Ja’Dhannar paused for a moment to allow the delegates to consider that and narrow the list of potential suppliers on their own.

“We spent a significant amount of effort to track down their supplier. I’nak culture still utilizes bone and animal hide for weapons and armor, with only a handful of bronze weapons among their entire race. We have not discovered the use of steel among their tribes or tradable wears. If the wears were being shipped through the Aqualyt Islands, or were even being supplied by the pirating clans, we would have noticed even the slightest increase of their presence in our bazaars in the form of pirated goods or simply independent suppliers looking for a better return on their investment. We have noticed no such change. After taking that into account, the list of potential suppliers is cut down significantly.”

“On top of that, we have also discovered that the construction of a spire is nearing completion. Such a monumental structure has no precedent among Tynir society. The fact that such a tower was completed without smaller structures leading up to its construction strengthens the likelihood of intervention of another nation. Of course, Kvatch is not objecting to the technological advancement among our neighboring nations, but it is clear that it is taking the form of a nation preparing for war rather than bettering their society’s standard of living.”

“Before it was announced that a council would meet, Kvatch was preparing to rally whatever allies we could gather in an attempt to protect our borders. Several pieces of this puzzle fell into place once we received news that influential figures among several nations had been kidnapped. It would be hard to claim that is was purely coincidental that the abductions would happen to take place just as the Tynir were reaching the apex of their armament. On the behalf of the Khajiiti, I wish to ask the Tynir representative to answer the questions who supplied their items of war and to what end. Furthermore, I urge to all the nations present before this meeting to take these findings into consideration and consider investigating the intentions the Tynir have for the immediate future and for what goal.”

Ja’Dhannar bowed his head slightly towards Sailahína, “I thank this Council for hearing the concerns of The Listener and the nation of Kvatch.” With his report successfully delivered, the Khajiiti returned to his seat and awaited what the Tynir representative would say in response.

Dasciis couldn't believe it. The Tynir were arming? They would pose a serious threat to all of Emoria. The Tynir, as well as the I'nak, were the fiercest fighters he had ever had the misfortune of crossing. Indeed, the only reason he had won the one duel he'd had with one of the savages was because of the seemingly random effects of his sword. Moments before his own demise, the swords mysterious magic properties "activated," sending a shower bloody fragments over his body. But that Tynir had not been wearing metal armor, nor bearing metal weapons.

This was news that was perhaps more dire than the abductions. Dasciis had a sudden urge to hurry home to Spire to inform his king. If the Tynir were preparing to march across Emoria, most likely north into Talonia itself, then Spire would need to be prepared. The Guild of Heroes would need to position itself where it would be needed most to stop the threat.

But he was also tasked with finding the Guild Master, and the guild certainly wouldn't function nearly as well without Torser's expert leadership and invaluable experience.

Dasciis would have to find another way to inform the king, either through a human or a bird messenger. His place was here, for now. And then wherever the trail took him to find Torser.

Perun remained still and silent for most of the meeting, but his eyes and ears saw and heard everything that had transpired. He carefully observed how the deleagates assembled, how old hates sparked anew, how they quarreled and threw accusations at each other. It was something the Chief liked not. If these people were rivals and enemies, why would they come here and talk with one another? Surely each group should be holding a meeting of their own, plotting the downfall of the other. Regardless, it was not for him to judge. If anything, he was thankful for being in the same room with so many different representatives. Each nation had no doubt chosen its finest for this task, those who embodied the virtues and ideals of their people. He smiled to himself, thinking that he was the best Arbia could offer at this point...truly, his country still had a long way to go.

When all present took their seats and the council began in earnest, Perun was pleased to learn that his guesses were correct. The senator was indeed the Jean he once knew, his actions and words proved as much. The robed woman was from the swamplands where he nearly lost his life to a lycan once. And, not surprisingly, the blue-armoured man was from the city of Spire and the Guild of Heroes. The Chieftain was also worried about the nations that had failed to attend the meeting. The Valinyx, they who dwelt beyond the Great Rift, especially. They were friends to the Arbian people, bringing trade and knowledge with them. More importantly, it was through their traders that the Subor had learned of this council. Something dark was afoot, he could feel it...these people had not come for a reason.

Other delegates that drew his attention were those of the Tynir and the I'nak. Their features amazed the Arbian. It was not the skin, or the markings, but their height. Perun was a tall man amidst a tall culture, yet there were some he knew that overtopped him. And yet...these newcomers to the council merely dwarfed them all. Perun was amused at the thought of how all those gathered around the lavish table would no doubt seem as children to the towering delegates. Something gripped his heart. It was not fear, for he was not frightened easily, no. It was something different. It was an instinct. The instinct which alerted the stalker of the woods that a bigger and meaner predator was about. That he should be weary. Still, he could not deny that they seemed to live harsh lives based on what he had read about their part of the world. He saw it in their eyes, their walk, their faces - they were survivors and any Arbian would respect that.

Perun listened closely as the representatives were called upon one by one and each explained what had brought them here. Most shared a similar tale - some unknown power had spirited away one of their leaders. Influential and powerful people, without a doubt, who carried great weight in their countries. At this the Chief thought about his own. Maybe being scattered amidst a hundred tribes was not such a disadvantage? Even if one, or more of the chieftains or elders were to disappear, the rest of the tribes would still go on without them. They could not be crippled so easily. He also thought on this "black magic" that had appeared in the speeches more than once. He was wise enough to know that things greater than steel and wood existed in the world, but not knowledgeable enough to know what they were. He did not like it, to say the least. Give him a foe like any other that dies and bleeds, but when he was faced with the unknown and unnatural, he was at a loss. There would be time for such musings later, he thought, he had to remain focused on the task at hand.

The sorceress, on the other hand, shared a mission much like his own. She had come here to learn what she could and return with the knowledge back to her people. A noble task to be certain, but he could not help but wonder what the secretive inhabitants of the swamp would do with it. The so-called pirate, a charming and daring man from what the Arbian had noticed, was also here not due to a disappearance, but another goal. What this other goal was, beneath the veil of offering help that is, he could not know. Perun only knew his own. He was here to offer help, aye, but most of all he was here to present the Arbian people to the world. To set them on the maps, it was a humble beginning, to be sure, but the Chief knew that was the first step to the unified nation he so craved.

After the nation of Kvatch had offered its tale, Saila, the familiar hostess who had once helped him in his studies here, beckoned Perun to stand up. The Arbian got to his feet, accompanied by the soft clanking of his armour. He was not keen on coming armed to a peaceful meeting, that would have been a disgrace were it in Arbia. But here, in the bigger world, he did not want to appear timid and weak either. With his natural, cool expression, he allowed himself a quick glance over the table. Afterwards, he spoke in his deep voice, calm and measured.

"I am Perun, son of Slavin and Chieftain of the Traki, lord in Belin. I have come on behalf of the Arbian people, who no longer wish to be isolated from the rest of the world." - he paused, giving the others a chance to think on his words - "We have no great leaders and have thus suffered no disappearances. We have no foes, for we do not dabble in politics. But we have the desire and the strength of arms to help you in this. Know that I will gladly pledge my knowledge, little as it is, and sword to your cause."

That was all he had to say. He bowed his head to the other delegates and took his seat. Now all that remained was to patiently wait. Wait for the remaining countries to present their case, wait for the council to decide on a course of action. And waiting was one thing Perun was good at. He might not be much of a diplomat, but he was a master of the hunt.

Ayurent simply smiled at the priest’s actions, his face never showing anything more than contentment. “I must have forgotten how differences were viewed as disease amongst the civilized.” There was no trace of venom in his words, but it was a clear swipe at the priest’s side. Locking eyes with priest, the Tynir’s cold jade simply watched him, unfazed by the small humans threatening gaze. “Yes. Let us join the others. I wouldn’t wish to keep them waiting any longer than we already have.” No doubt, this Jean’s mind was whirling with calculations and plots to try and tip their arrival in his favor. The man had no doubt seen many important meetings, and politics was defiantly a game he enjoyed playing.

The priest departed, but not before he whispered something in passing to the Jasadin. Announcing their presence to the room, as he went, the general noted. Someone was rather eager to begin the slandering. The sorceress hurried off not long after him, giving the group a weak smile as she went. The words of the priest were troubling her, and his own words had no doubt sparked concerns in her mind. With a silent motion, he ushered Tusohe into the council chamber, pausing when a familiar face approached.

With a hearty smile, he gently took the smaller figure’s hand, and gave it a powerful shake. “Ayurent of Kamon’Belkar. We would not have missed such an important council for anything.” Releasing the hand, he looked into the chamber, where Tusohe stood uncomfortably before the mass inside the chamber. “But, this reunion of ours shall have to wait, won’t it Nilus? Perhaps we could have a spar afterwards, to see how you’ve come along?”

Stepping past the Ayren, he smiled at the elfin maiden who approached the two. “Thank you, milady.” He bowed his head slightly to her, before looking to the rest of the council. “I am Kon’ost Siade Ayurent, here as the representative of both my people, and the Lady.” With a fluid motion, he gestured to his companion. “And this is Zahiik Tusohe, here to represent the I’nak before the world.” He was silent for a moment, before he spoke again. “With the council’s permission, I will serve as the translator for Zahiik Tusohe for she has only just begun her studies in common, and will have difficulty following otherwise.”

No protest was raised, and the pair took their seats, not far from the delegate from Kvatch. The meeting started shortly after, and the priest was called upon first. Ayurent smiled as the priest looked to those he wished were not present, enjoying the disdain that lurked in his features, easily hidden from the common eye, but the eyes of a Tynir were anything but common.

One by one, the room spoke of kidnappings and some of speculations. Well, in truth, it was mostly the Priest, but what could one expect from such a close-minded culture?

At the words of the Khajiiti, Ayurent chuckled. The cats never ceased their watch, did they? Upon hearing his name, the general was still for a moment longer, flicking his eyes over the council chambers. He could feel the multitude of eyes upon him, curious, fearful, condemning…the emotions in the chamber were so thick, it felt as if he could reach out his hand and feel their relentless pulse on his skin.

Tusohe watched him curiously for a moment, and he muttered a few short words to ease any concerns the I’nak might have. “Thank you, Lady Carnil.” He rose, pausing to give the maiden a brief bow, before addressing the chamber. “The Tynir offer their deepest sympathies to the nations of the world for their loss. I know this must be a truly trying time for all of you, and many have lost close friends to these kidnappings.” Bowing his head for a brief moment in respect, the Tynir let his gaze fall upon the delegate of Kvatch.

“As for your…accusations, let me ask this question. Have you ever watched your young torn apart by a beast larger than even the mightiest of your warriors? Have any of you watched a throng of flesh-eating crabs devour a full-grown in seconds? Is everyday a battle just to provide the food necessary for survival to your young?” His eyes were sharp, as they flicked over the faces present. “The Tynir have lived in Korun Otak for many can‘si, and each day is new struggle that we must face and overcome if we are to survive. While I respect the Khajiiti’s right to defend their borders, this request oversteps the bounds of your rights.”

The Tynir crossed his arms across his powerful chest, his smile unwavering as his eyes bore into the smaller species present.

“Weapons and armour keep my people safe from the predators of Korun Otak, and allow us to feed our young. These tools of war, as you call them, are more akin to farming tools than weaponry. We cannot call upon the wealth of other nations for survival as you can. With them, we can defend that which is most important to us.” The Tynir‘s voice was devoid of hostility, never breaking from it’s peaceful sound despite the tense atmosphere of the council chamber. Ayurent chuckled, looking about the room once more. “No other nation must confess the origins of their weapons, or is mistrusted as soon as they acquire that which the world has had for centuries. Unification has not been accomplished, as many of the Kinat have decided to remain free of the Lady’s command. We respect their decision, and do not wander their lands aimlessly, which is more than can be said for others. Stability, and prosperity are our goals, and Kamon‘Belkar is the foundation that we have chosen to build for ourselves. I will even reveal that other locations are currently being scouted for future constructs.”

With a deep bow, the Tynir reseated himself. “However, if our motives are suspect, the Lady welcomes the delegates to come to Kamon’Belkar themselves, and speak with her personally. She will put all concerns to rest herself, and will be able to answer all the questions you must have.” His eyes flicked to the Khajiiti and the Priest, knowing that they would not take kindly to his response. “Thank you for your time, delegates.”

Emoria had never before shown such a united face. She had never stood as one to defy her fate, nor had she risen to defend her downtrodden as much as her defenders might like to believe. This council, in Nolwë Osto… It was a turning point in history. It was a step forward in the name of peace throughout the lands. Fionu would have recognized and respected that union. As the naïve Quendë, he might have been awed by the history that he was helping to create.

The thing that he had become- Saint- it stole his stole his form, and used emotions and old angers as weapons. Saint cared nothing for the majesty of this moment. Saint only cared that he had a job to do. He would cast doubt where he could, upon everything that the gathering had hoped to accomplish. Someday, this doubt might make others question the validity of gatherings such as these. Saint would lie, and lie well.

Truly a shame to see such potential wasted.

“It seems a fallacy to place all blame squarely on a single nation," Saint spoke, the lies rolling from his tongue as venomous honey. “We, too, have joined this council for a reason, and we, too have suffered. Even as I speak, our townsmen search for the Keeper of the Gates, taken by the same dark forces you tell of. He is integral to the defense of our lands, as he holds the keys to both the north and south walls. Without him, trade, small as it is, will have to go entirely through shipping routes, and my people may not have enough vital goods to survive a harsh winter. ”

The intolerant in the room seemed angry that he should even speak. Good… they should expect to be met with some opposition, even if it did not necessarily take the form they had expected. It was not them he hoped to sway. Funny, however, that prejudice might be the free world’s best hope of salvation at this point. The thought appealed greatly to Saint’s sense of irony. He turned to those who spoke of the dark one. “And unusual to hear mention of a name two millennia gone. While it is true that the Morgarath, or whatever you called him, was the greatest user of dark magic ever, but that hardly makes him the only practitioner of the art. I think it much more likely that a rogue mage has learned to harness some of the shadow planes might, and has used it for his own ends. That power is hardly exclusive to a single individual.” A brief pause allowed Saint to make a quick gesture towards the Thendari. “If this Morgarth was still alive, he would be over three thousand years old. Not even Quendi live that long. The only people I know of that do are the Thendari over there… and I think we can all agree that he’s not one of them.”

Saint did not wait for objections before continuing, though he did pause for the dark humor of the joke to sink in. They would come later, but he would first have his say. He took care not to make eye contact with the Vatiennian priest, a gesture he knew would infuriate the man. “Let me pose a hypothetical to all those in the room. Let us say that Margarath was responsible for the recent kidnappings. What, then, would you do?” Saint’s eyes hardened as he looked upon the Thendari paladins, as self-righteous as any living thing could be. “Would you go to war? Would you attack the mountains over the actions of one man, deplorable as they may be? You must know that even if Morgantoth were still alive, there is not a shred of proof that he is still living within the mountains. As all things must, all of the denizens of the mountains would be forced to protect themselves.” The silence in the room was deafening. Saint moved his gaze slowly to the hero of Spire, recently made aware of the Tynirs movements.

Saint began again. “We are not unsympathetic. While the mountains lack a true government, we have had a gathering, and I have been authorized to lend you assistance should you chose to chase after this kidnapper. None are better at finding the shadow then the shadow herself, after all. And while some of us may be in more disagreement than others,” as he flashed a smile at the Vatiennian. “I very much hope that we will be able to put aside our differences, and work towards this common goal. Thank you for your time,” he said as he sat back down.

A creature she could hardly describe as man spoke, the same one whose very prescence had stirred up a wave of hatred and dark emotion. She had ignored him at first, like she ignored most in the room. Everyone in this council room was a potential enemy to her. Like the Arbian lord, she was from a mostly isolated community with absolutely no interaction with anyone who was present. Those who her people did have contact with were mysteriously absent from the council. The Spiran soldier was the only exception.

However, unlike the Arbian lord, she did not want to be here. She was ordered here, but wanted no part of it, and neither did anyone back at the swamplands as far as she knew. Who would, in a time of strife, want to give up isolation? It seemed odd to her to think in such a selfless fashion. Selflessness often leads to self-destruction. Preservation of self is detriment for survival.

Still, when Saint spoke an inexplicible wave of disgust overcame her senses. His words crawled as if a magic force was twisting them as they spilled from his mouth. It was almost as if he wore his evil openly, and yet no one could pin point a specific mark or detail which would identify him as such. Like an insane man who lives a normal life in disguise, so to it seemed that Saint was able to speak among them as one of them, even though her senses screamed that he was not.

But was that no different than the Priest's accusations of her disease? Was she not evil as well? Perhaps the same feeling was washing over the rest of them, not only toward Saint but her as well. How could she know what they felt toward her, a stranger. She assumed they all heard the Priest's outburst, and that they all knew what it meant. Lycanthropy was standard knowledge as far as she was concerned, and the people before her seemed well educated, even if extremely closed minded.

The Tynir man's words regarding her in praise when discussing her lycanthropy rang through her thoughts as she pondered this. His opinion of her was as rare as he in this part of the world. She was reminded of his spoken defense against accusations of mass arming. What he said made sense, and yet she wasn't sure what to think; but it made her curious to know more. She knew vaguely of the Tynir through Fermatan stories, but nothing more. Suddenly her curiousity flamed, and she wanted nothing more than to explore their lands...but as of now, the thought seemed as unapproachable as the female warrior who sat next to them. She was looking down at them not just in stature but belief of position. To her, it seemed, they were all beneath.

Judging by Sailia’s facial expression she didn’t appear to be convinced of the scroll’s content, but she humored him nonetheless with thanking him for his reading. Boyd simply nodded with a smirk. The lady elf went on to explain a similar abduction story that had dark elements that matched the other accounts. She then called on the sorceress.

“What-the!” Boyd blurted.

He flinched from the slight impact of the crossbow hitting the side of his head. The pirate furrowed his brow, and shot a glare at the sorceress. The witch had mumbled a halfhearted apology behind a look that bordered on accomplished and laugh out loud. Boyd’s face quickly softened, and that cat like grin of his creeped its way back to his lips.

“No worries, Lass. Accidents do happen,” he said still grinning.

The sorceress said her peace, and as she moved to sit back down Boyd placed his hand on her crossbow to ensure it stayed in its place. “Excuse me,” he repeated the same words she had muttered to him moments ago. “We wouldn’t want any more accidents.” He said, quickly moving his hand away just before she finished sitting down.

Ja’Dhannar spoke next and brought to the attention of the council that the Tynir were heavily arming themselves. An interesting find indeed, Boyd thought. His knowledge on the Tynir was little. What he did know was they were a master warrior race, and rumored to live only for war. With that in mind it made the Khajiiti’s claims even more concerning.

The Tynir representative didn’t get a chance to address Ja’Dhannar’s allegations, for Sailia called upon the Arbian to speak. The man disclosed that his nation hadn’t suffered a kidnapping, and was there to aid the council to any end. Perun seemed to be an honorable man, but with something to prove.

Finally the Tynir delegate was asked to speak. He went on to defend his people against the Khajiiti’s accusations. Admitting to the activity, but explained it as a case of defense against its regions harsh wildlife. It appeared reasonable, logical, and a bit stretched. All of Emoria is in an uproar over these kidnappings, and suddenly one of the world’s most violent races is getting armed to the teeth, Boyd asked himself. That seemed even too convenient for the pirate to believe. Something’s not right there.

The ambassador from the Mountains of Night came forward to speak next. He batted back claims against his nation smoothly, and flawlessly, but almost to a fault. The pirate had survived in a world surrounded by thieves, cheats, and liars. One either learned to distinguish the three and keep them from dagger’s reach, or fall victim. What Boyd had learned over the years told him Saint was either lying, or hiding something. The question that worried Captain Waters was, why?

Jean listened as everyone explained their situation. To be frank, the Priest was surprised that not every nation had suffered a kid-napping and that some nations were here as simple spectators. And even more surprised about the Arbian: Jean was glad to not only get confirmation that he was indeed Perun, but that his tribe and possibly entire nation was here to help; it was one less nation to worry about and one more to think of as a friend.

Jean soaked every word of every man and woman who spoke, incrusting them into his mind for later use. The Vatiennien had acquired the capability for incredible intellectual agility, so this seemingly giant task of memorizing the key points of everyone’s speech to some was simple routine to Jean. Unsurprisingly, two particular speeches drew disgust from Jean, yet one drew immediate, and surprised, accordance. The speaker from Kvatch was the one who drew the priest’s positive gaze.

Indeed, the Khajiiti were neither great friends nor enemies of Vatienne, but this meeting may change some things for the better. Vatienne has the exact same opinion as Kvatch on the Tynir. The first thing Jean was to say was tied to the Tynir’s answer of the Khajiiti’s accusations. Jean slowly turned his eyes to the Tynir and looked at him square in the eye. Before beginning to speak, the priest leaned on the massive table that lay in front of him so that, when it will be necessary, he could hide his soon-to-be-shaking hand from everyone present.

“So, general, you mean to tell us that, after many ‘can’si’ of your people living in the Korun Otak, they suddenly decided to arm themselves like mad and build a giant spire fortress? I am sorry, I don’t buy it, and I do not think the delegate from Kvatch does either. Neither do I agree with your policy of keeping the origin of your armaments a state secret. It is not the fact that the world has had weapons for so long that makes them any less dangerous or any less important as to not keep tabs on those who spontaneously arm themselves with such intensity. If you have nothing to hide, there is no need for secrecy.

So I add Vatienne to the growing list of nations who wish for you to repel your veil of secrecy on the origin of armaments. I would also be very interested in the new places your people are scouting for other buildings. Also, since you have extended such an offering, I would like to discuss with you an eventual meeting between members of Vatiennien government and your Lady as soon as possible and perhaps even a tour of the country? It would do much to soothe our old Emperors heart as well as cool our potentially... tedious relations.” With the Tynir addressed, Jean turned his head to Saint; he who spoke the words of a liar.

“As for you, Morgarath was certainly not the only practitioner of the dark arts. He is the only one, however, that is capable, or at least able to empower someone or something, to use dark magic in the City of Light and get away with it without getting detected all while subduing the powerful priest that was, and hopefully still is, Mgr. Sullivan. No rogue or self-taught necromancer or mage could possibly do this. Now, the fact that the people of the Mountains of Night have had a council and agreed to help the rest of Emoria to capture the kidnapper reassures me. This means that they have a free mind and are not corrupt; hopefully it will stay that way and the worst will never come to pass.

I would also like to take this moment to attempt, as you said, to put aside the differences between our two peoples and find Morgarath. I am sure that, in good conscience, you will grant us way to your country so that you may personally guide and show a group of Vatiennien priests, and possibly agents from other nations, presided personally by me, around your country in parallel to finding the real kidnapper. For I think you agree that where else to start a search for a dark magic user than a place that holds reputation to harbour them, mm?”

Jean awaited both of the men’s answers. Sincerity was the only discernible thing from his words. The time of shallow rhetoric was gone; the time of action had come. Jean the unpleasant, whiny diplomat was gone and was replaced with a more professional and reasonable Jean. Or so Jean would like to think.

Immediately after speaking, Jean reached for something in his robes that he is never without; a quill and some pieces of parchment.

"Now, these pieces of parchment will act as a rudimentary petition-like voting sheet," Jean explained. The priest placed his quill atop his parchment. He then looked at the Tynir.

"If you do not think me serious, then I shall use these unpleasant tactics: if still you refuse to share with everyone present the origin of your armaments, I will have to dress a petition against your nation. Basically, every nation who wishes for you to comply to our very reasonable and simple demand will sign this sheet of paper and it will act as a vote. If a reasonable majority sign this sheet of paper, I trust that you will have the decency of character to come to term with us and tell us all that we think is in need of being told, yes?"

"Of course," Jean went on, turning his head to Saila, "we will be in need of an inkwell to write these signatures. " Jean said that sentence with a warm smile then turned his stone-like gaze to the Tynir.

Jean waited and wondered what the rooms reaction would be... especially those of the Tynir and Saint.

KA-THUD!

The massive table shuddered under the force of the blow; the I’nak’s fists crashing into its polished surface. She vaulted to her feet, knocking her chair back as she stood. Her eyes flashed, pale blue with danger lurking in their depths. Her features twisted in anger and she turned hard eyes on the frail man that had spoken so scornfully to Ayurent.

She had listened quietly, doing her best to follow the conversation as Ayurent translated for her. She had bit her tongue several times, knowing that the Tynir would handle things better than she. She could smell the tension—the fear, the anger, the distrust, and down right hate. There was a battle in the room; one of words, not weapons, and it infuriated her. Why waste breath when such things could be solved easily by iyok?

“The world does no bow to your Emperor, Pale-skin!” She spat the words out, venom dripping from every syllable. This was not a hunt where silence and stealth was required; she would keep quiet no longer. Her eyes slid across the other occupants of the room, encasing each in ice before her gaze flicked down to regard the papers the priest had set on the table. She could hardly believe he thought that such flimsy things could force her companion’s hand.

Her stare turned back to the priest, and she bared her teeth. “Words! That is all you have; hiding behind your Emperor. Words are useless! For the weak and cowardly who fear to face opponents in battle. There is no honor in words, pale-skin.” She reached out and snatched up the parchment and quill in one hand; giving them one scornful look before they were both crumpled into a ball, the quill letting out soft snaps as it broke.

The I’nak tossed the tightly crushed bundle to the floor. “Face me in iyok if you dare, but do not waste my time with your words.”

The Sythen had watched the events unfold as the council progressed and inside the being could not help but chuckle at the foolishness it saw around itself. So many fools who thought they had wills of their own attempting to maneuver for their own benefit. None of them seemed to realize they were all pawns. The Dark Father's plans stretched across generations and now were beginning to bear fruit. Asmodeaus had waited patiently in the chair that had been provided for quite some time and had fully intended to keep quiet until near the very end of the council. However the events that had just occurred and the seeming flip out session of the I’nak representative made the time seem expeditious for him to speak.

He stood with a smooth motion and the thick robes he wore to keep from freezing shifted slightly around him. His voice was cold and hissing and expressing a different sort of scorn than the I'nak's rather foolish outburst had contained. "Wordsss have power asss well warrior. Wordsss sssummoned you here not actionsss, not your preciousss ritual fighting." The creature held up a hand as it spoke as if to ward off any hostility. "Hossstility has no place here, thissss isss a gathering of equalsss, none here ssseek conflict. Kindly remember that lessst you risssk the magic here forcing you from thissss place."

The scaly face turned towards Jean then and it spoke once more. "Isss not a nation ssssovereign over itssself? I recall sssuch excusssesss usssed in the passst to jussstify cassting my kind from citiesss. It ssseeemss that Vatienne isss ssstill eager to force the lessss fortunate on thisss world to sssubmit to itsss imagined glory" There was clear venom in His voice by that point. Most would know that in the past and even in the modern times often the sythen due to their strange appearance and migratory nature where cast out from places.

Throughout the course of the council thus far, the Thendári paladins had remained silent, patiently waiting to hear everything that was known. Time, after all, was on their side.

After the librarian had reestablished order, she saw fit to call at last on the Thendári.

As the senior paladin and oldest Thendári present, Anatar Aeryán rose first in response to the librarian's acknowledgment. That she had not called on them before, even when they did not make the request, showed wisdom on her part. When Thendári spoke publicly -- which was rare -- they were both utterly thorough and characteristically unappreciative of interruptions.

Anatar spoke the human language precisely and without accent, his voice rich and deep with longevity.

"It is with sadness and gravity that I must first direct your attentions to the unfortunate but merited absence of our allies in Äm, the troubling yet predictable absence of our friends in Fermata, the unavoidable absence of the Aqualyt folk, the expected but forgivable absence of the Drenata, the curious absence of the Valinyx, and the unwarranted, disheartening, foreboding absence of the good Breale. Let us be reminded that we here do not comprise the whole of Emoria. Their voices will not be heard unless we hear them in our hearts. Let us bear in mind the good of all Emoria during this time of crisis, even as we speak for ourselves and our own people which we each must represent. Let the absences of our fellow peoples drive us to better achieve the superlative well-being of all.

"Let us begin with unveiled truth. Arbia, we acknowledge your presence and wish to honor your wisdom and your dedication. Idona, we acknowledge your presence and wish to recognize your skill and unflagging tenacity in the face of your plight. Jasidin, though you may not count us friends, please do not count us enemies; and to you personally we wish to commend your apparent strength of will. Spire, we honor your presence. Vatienne, we honor your presence. May the Light that guides us be the beacon that heralds the end of the darkness. Taurë Arda, our kin, we express gratitude to you for our presence here, as well as for the call of this council. May the bonds of faithfulness be reforged between us. Kvatch, we respect your presence and your skills. I'nak, we acknowledge your presence. Tynir, we acknowledge your presence. Pirate, we acknowledge your presence and wish to express our contempt for you and your kind. There is no such thing as neutrality among thieves; your day of reckoning approaches. Sythen, we acknowledge your presence. May the darkness wear thin in the face of a rising dawn. Mountains of Night, we acknowledge your presence. May your master's doom be near at hand, and may it be wrought by the hand of Light.

"Greetings, assembled representatives of Emoria. Anatar Aeryán is my name. I am here to represent the Thendári as a race of Emoria before this council."

The tall Thendári proceeded into a lecture on the hitherto largely undisclosed history of their race. He spoke of the centralization of the five clans of the Tawarwaith, the Elves, in ages past -- of his people's Avari heritage. He spoke of the discovery of Annûn, the island of the Sunfall, and the Avari isolation. He spoke of the Avari Transgression and the coming of Alos, Lord of Light, to guide them out of their distress. He spoke of the early days of the Thendári, and how they grew in strength and virtue under the Light. He spoke of the origins of the Sildári, their relations with the elves, and ultimately the fall of Ander, or Mandor. He spoke of the subsequent time of sorrow and healing, and the elves' new desire to reconnect with the mainland. He spoke of the days of Alos's Forge, into which he himself had been born. He spoke of the discreet emergence of the Thendári, millenia past. He spoke of newfound knowledge and untold discovery as the Thendári roamed Emoria. He spoke of national diplomacy, millenia later. He spoke of the alliance with Vatienne and the resurrection of the Sildári -- Jean de Poitiers's people. And Anatar spoke of renewed bonds with his elven kin.

The lengthy account, sorely lacking in detail by Thendári standards, was overabundantly thorough to less patient folk. Yet, despite signs -- subtle and otherwise -- of irritation from some of those present, it could not be left unsaid. In some ways, the Thendári situation was similar to the current stance of the Arbian people: this was an unprecedented opportunity to reveal themselves to Emoria and create lasting bonds. The main difference was that the Thendári had been at it slowly and steadily over millenia. In addition, however, a detailed history was necessary as a backdrop for the information and revelations that were to come.

"Thus the Age of Spirit has long since dawned. Over seven Cycles -- more than twelve hundred of your years -- have passed, and the days have come for the Thendári to emerge. Beside me are Tatyana Irrdánë, called here to represent before you the nation of Aendrel, and Chälan Irrdánë, chosen to represent the order of the Thendári Paladins. They will expound the more recent and relevant tales for the consideration of this council. Tatyana."

Anatar settled back into his seat, and Tatyana Irrdánë rose to address the council.


__________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________


Tatyana rose from her seat at Anatar's direction.
"Greeting, my friend and my enemy. May the Light guide your step upon your Path," she said in the Thendárin elvish tongue. The words were more for her own people than for anyone else; it was the speaking of her own language before other lands that was important. This was the first such instance in history, at least on so grand a scale. Immediately she repeated the benediction in Quenya elvish, out of respect for the hosts of the council -- adding a portion for her elven kin.
"Well met, friends-mine. May guide the Light steps-yours upon path-yours -- and may be they green and golden."
Finally, she translated into the common speech, making a quick correction to avoid unnecessary hostility.
"Greetings, friends and-- other folk. May the Light guide your steps along the Path."

Tatyana spoke at length, taking nearly as much time as Anatar had, to cover the history of the past 1,252 years, from the perspective of the Thendári. Covering a relative fraction of the amount of history Anatar had expounded, Tatyana was able delve into more detail. Nevertheless, to her, the monologue felt oversimplified and rushed.

She, too, spoke of Aendrel's alliance with Vatienne. "...was appointed, and in time the matter was brought to light: the Sildári had survived. In our hearts we knew..." She spoke of the rise of Äm, the renewed harmony of Irrihyánë, and the effects of this in regard to Aendrel. "...and before long the old spirit renewed itself, and with restoration came growth, for the Sildári soon reawakened to their gifts of..." She spoke of the growing bonds of brotherhood between Aendrel and Äm. "...to our lands and we to theirs. Stone and timber increased, thanks to the humans' strength. But more than this, craft of shared make between our two..." She spoke of the spread of the religion of Sanctus Unus in Aendrel. "...for like Alos, like the people of Äm, like those of Vatienne, we exalt the Highest, who rules the Spirit realm. Though concepts and understandings differ, still our core beliefs serve to bind us together in..." She spoke of how Aendrel's culture had developed over the past millenium. "...even such as this Great Library. As we continue to learn more and more about the rest of..." And she spoke of the most recent affairs of Aendrel. "...forward to the coming centuries with great anticipation. ...However, all our dreams of the future mean precious little, ...unless... the current crisis is overcome."

Tatyana paused for a moment to let her words hang in the air. "Thank you."
Now it was her younger brother's turn. Despite his mere two Cycles of age, everyone agreed that Chälan Irrdánë was the quintessential thendári paladin. He was an elf whose heart beat in time with the heart of Alos. In addition, one advantage of his youth was that he could more easily relate to the more short-lived races around him, himself not yet having lived too much longer than they. He was not yet as detached from their way of thinking. And, if that were not enough, his most recent station had been here, at the Great Library, and he was therefore acquainted with the current mode of existence in this part of Emoria.

As Tatyana nodded a bow to the council and began to take her seat, Anatar introduced the next speaker and signaled for Chälan to stand.


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Chälan stood when directed by Anatar, ready to start in where his sister had left off. He could see by Sailahína's face that she was anticipating the cumulative and climactic nature of what would follow. Chälan had previously hinted to her that the Thendári address would be relatively long, and she had understood its necessity.

Chälan greeted the council, first acknowledging the meeting's hostess in both Thendárin and Quenya. Saila was the only one who would understand the extent of the words in his own speech; Chälan had aided her achievement of that capacity, over the years. "Greeting, esteemed lady. Thank-you for the wisdom of your patience and timing. Now the matter's heart will be revealed." The discreet glint in his eye -- a reference to his discussion with her prior to the council -- augmented his words. In Quenya and Common he said more formally, first to Lady Carnil and then turning toward the council at large, "Hail, dear lady! Greetings, Lady Carnil. "I give greetings to all peoples. I speak for the Thendar Calimehtari. Greetings to you all. I speak for the Thendári Paladins."

Chälan didn't plan on speaking nearly as long as his companions had, but even so, there was much to be said.

"Five thousand years ago, our lord Alos gave gifts to the Thendári and created the Paladins of Aendrel. On that day, the Age of Light began. For three thousand years we went out into Emoria to fight the Shadow. Among the shadows we fought the shadows -- villains and corruption and death, the designs of the Shadow Lord, Morgarath."

Chälan waited for reactions to subside.

"The history of our deeds is not known by human, elf or any other save ourselves and Morgarath himself. Nevertheless, by our hand, under the Light's guidance, the Shadow was hindered. Then by the strength of Vatienne was Morgarath repelled, and the dark lord retreated into his haven, the Mountains of Night. From that day to this, Morgarath has left the rest of Emoria in relative peace. We Thendári cultivated that peace. We forged alliances and grew strong, as you have heard. And we Paladins created outposts of Light where there were outposts of Shadow. And our works for the Light were left largely uncontested. Until now.

"This council is gathered to answer a widespread, common crisis, widespread not through coincidence but by design, a crisis that was authored, forged, and executed by Morgarath himself."

Chälan ignored the protests as they came, waiting until they were silenced with assurances of order and fairness, and then he continued.

"That the Thendári suspected it from the start does not diminish the truth of the matter," said Chälan, in answer to one of the protests. "Our investigations were fruitful despite what bias may have been attached beforehand. That we immediately recognized Morgarath's signature on a crisis is no more the result of bias than is recognizing his signature on a residue of magic. I myself was present during the investigation at the site of Handilyë Varyamë's kidnapping. Though none others knew the source of the signs, we Paladins knew all too well. This is no speculation. Morgarath is indeed alive and well." This last was aimed at the dark elf. "Morgarath is older than three thousand years. He is older than ten thousand years. He is neither elf nor human nor any other common form of life. He is Shadow incarnate, the only power capable of producing darkness which may be felt as substance. It is this that was left behind in Nolwë. It is this which was left behind near Valinyx. It is this which was left behind in Vatienne."

Chälan delved into an account of each investigation the Thendári Paladins had been involved in, regarding the recent kidnappings. Besides the major ones already mentioned, Chälan detailed several others as well, all pointing to the same undeniable conclusion: Morgarath had at last come out of his hiding, and he had struck a blow to Emoria which was indubitably the beginning of his machine of darkness.

Chälan spoke with finality and conviction.

"This is not the end of Morgarath's scheme; it is merely the opening move in a game we should have seen coming for a thousand years. On behalf of the Paladins of Aendrel, I call this council to unite and answer this dire ploy of Shadow that would effect the death of Emoria."

Sometimes, talk fails. Sometimes you need to accept fate and reveal more of yourself than you might like. Such were Saint’s thought, listening to his allies speak. He still had a trump card, one he had not wanted to place onto the field so early, but a trump nonetheless. The Vatiennian was simply bolstered by the I’nak’s protest, though Saint could see him shaking faintly beneath the table. Not quite nerves of iron then… more like an iron mask. He was all talk. Of course, in this situation, talk was what was dangerous, not actions. Plenty of time for those later.

Saint’s frown deepened upon the entry of the Paladins into the conversation. They’d withheld themselves for long, but no more apparently. Still, there was no sort of hard evidence that might lead to an all-out war, which is what Saint had hoped to avoid. The Thedari might recognize the dark lord’s magical signature, but that was gainsay, hardly the evidence required to prove. It was simply their word, and the Thendari were mysterious beings… who sometimes alienated those they tried to protect. The pirates were an excellent example; the Paladins had made their distaste for their lifestyle known all too easily.

Still, they were formidable adversaries. Underestimating them might have all sorts of consequences, so best to be careful. If Saint was going to make his move, he decided that he would have to make it right. That meant simply ignoring interruptions, and going on as he could. Glancing quickly at the still-furious I’nak, he made a quick gesture for calm. He could still take care of this situation. Saila’s attention was on the Thendari, and as he finished speaking, Saint realized he recognized him. Of course… it had not truly been so long. It simply added another level to the tricks Saint was planning. He stood quickly and coughed to make sure he had everyone’s attention, though that was not so difficult- the young Paladin had spoken directly to him.

“Let me tell you,” Saint began “Exactly how ludicrous the example of magical signatures is. I take it you expect the delegates here to simply accept your word as to the culprit? You cannot reproduce your results here in front of us, you cannot show us how you reached your conclusions, and you have only your immense age to prove that you know the perfect signature. My fellow Emorians, no memory is perfect, especially those clouded by the ages. While it may be true that the Thendari remember the signature of one of their ancient foes two thousand years after he was last seen, it seems unlikely. It certainly is very far from proof of the culprit. While you paladins might have conducted an extremely thorough investigation of this kidnapping, it hardly hold credence over other countries without even shred of true proof.”

“I must ask. What if it was not the signature of Morgarath you felt? What if you felt a power from one of Jasidin, or one of your allies in Fermata? Should those nations simply take your word as well, and simply allow themselves to be invaded? They would defend themselves from your accusations, of course, just as we must.” Saint smiled, his true point becoming clear. The minions of light would find no toothless prey here. A setback would hardly mean the overall battle, and Saint was beginning to think the manner of the attackers might make it impossible for them to prevail. He whirled towards the Vatiennian. “And you, good sir, are correct. Nothing to hide, of course. If there is no guilt, there is nothing to fear, logically. An old argument. Priest, I will allow your kind into my cities the same day you allow our High Inquisitioners into yours. After all, if there is no guilt, priest, you have nothing to fear. You are hardly a neutral party. Any others requesting to tour our grand nation, however, are quite welcome.”

Murmurs began to run through the room. While the Thendari might think themselves the champions of justice, he still had a thing or two to talk about within the council. It was time to reveal something. Saint brought his hands together, almost in a praying position. From there, they slowly spread apart in a wide arc, leaving an orb of absolute blackness roiling and bubbling between them. Gasps broke out from the audience as it was noticed, and the tang of dark magic filled the air. Immensely powerful, it seemed less a feeling than a taste, a fetid miasma that stuck in the back of throat, making some of the audience cough. Even those who had no contact with magic could sense it as an overwhelming use of shadow magic. Strangely, the library’s magic made no move to stop the Moriquende. “This,” exclaimed Saint, “is a magical signature. It is extremely distinctive, very obvious, and quite fakable.” At that, Saint’s hands went back together again, in the form of a true pair this time. There seemed to be some effort to the casting, but his hands released again, and this time an orb radiated soft light, relaxing all those who gazed upon it. It was an extremely powerful light spell, the aura affecting all those nearby, regardless of whether they were magically sensitive. “I learned to create false signatures when I was still a pup. If this is the best proof you can offer, Chälan, you will need to think harder.”

A smirk showed Saint was finished, and he sat back down amongst fearful glances and whispers. That would almost certainly make questions for the Thendari and Vatienne to answer, and every word of it had been true, for a change.

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Tatyana stood when the dark orb appeared between Saint's hands. Several other Paladins stood, too, as well as others among the council. Tatyana wondered why the Library's defenses weren't activating to prevent what the dark one was doing, until she rationalized that it must be a neutral magic of some kind. As the black cloud briefly expanded into the room, Tatyana put up a hand to feel it.

When the light came and Saint claimed the ability to fake magical signatures, Tatyana almost laughed out loud. Who did he think he was fooling? Certainly not a Thendári. It took no prior knowledge of the Shadow itself to recognize its raw presence. Even her brother Chälan could attest to that, and he had never even experienced Morgarath's direct influence before, whereas Tatyana was old enough to remember.

Thendári lived under the watch of Light. That alone would be enough. Thendári Paladins had been to the very Plane of Light itself. Any soul that had experienced true power of any kind would know a cheap magic like the one displayed here. But to know the raw essence of Light and be fooled by a counterfeit? Never happen.

"Mere shadows and smoke cannot hope to compare to that which overflows from the source. This is no dark magic but a cheap trick, devoid of any signature whatsoever."

"His 'signature' is not ours," realized Talus, standing on Tatyana's left. "His word is different." In other words, it was a question of semantics. "A signature of a type of magic is different from the signature of a person -- the undeniable signs that a particular person is involved. There is no magic in this, only fact and memory."

"Talus is correct," said Anatar, still sitting. "Attempts to cloud the issue through wordplay will get this council nowhere. Even were it possible to replicate a person's magical signature, only the Shadow itself can produce through its power the pure the substance of darkness. The fact remains undebatable: Morgarath is behind this."

"Then the question before the council is unchanged," said Tatyana, about to restate what that question was, but she stopped before the words came. Chälan had a subtle look of puzzlement, a barely noticeable set of his eyes that few even up close would be able to discern. Tatyana thought to buy time for him to think. "...but how can that question be answered if the emissaries from the Mountains of Night are under the Shadow Lord's sway?" She spoke directly to Saint. "You claim Morgarath does not exist. If he did, would you contest his will? Would you cast him from your land and unite with Emoria against him?"

The general rose fluidly, with grace unexpected from a creature of his size. A single powerful hand was placed on Tusohe’s shoulder, but he never looked to her. His gaze stayed locked on the priest before him, their depths glinting like a predator that had found itself it’s next meal. As his companion slowly returned to her seat, the old general allowed a sigh to escape his lips.

“Ambassador.” His voice was even, and a smile spread across his cracked lips. “The Tynir have not be united since the time of the Great Shattering. With no leader, one’s kind cannot truly advance forward. With the Lady’s guidance, we have begun to carve ourselves a path, much like so many before us. Truly, I do not care whether or not you ‘buy it’ or not ambassador. If you cannot accept the truth, then you are too rigid in your views to see reason clearly. Not matter what pressures or tactics you attempt upon me, Monsieur de Poitiers, the source of our weaponry shall remain a secret entrusted only to the Lady, The First General, and myself.” His face remained as it had since the start, as he glanced down to the I’nak beside him.

“I would be delighted to provide you the locations, but such a thing requires an intimate knowledge of Korun Otak and none save the Tynir truly know the lands. The scouting locations, in fact, are simply possibilities. Actual construction shall not begin for the foreseeable future, as it was with Kamon’Belkar. Once these projects are underway, I will personally tell you the locations. I trust that will satisfy your burning curiosity for now?”

Leaning over the table, the Tynir placed his hands firm on the wood as he lowered himself to eye level with the priest, his gaze colder than a thousand blizzards and harder than the mightiest mountain. His smile slipped back onto, and he straightened out. “A tour would likely result in the death of all of your politicians.” He paused, taking note of the sudden spike of hatred in the room. “My homeland is brutal and unforgiving. I would not place a group of aged humans into it even during the calmest storm, ambassador.” He retook his seat, his gaze on his bandaged arms.

“But, to ease your Emperor’s heart, I will instead offer a journey of both myself and the Lady to the heart of your nation, to speak with him at the heart of his proud nation. I trust this will suffice?”

No time was given for a reply, as the silent Paladins finally spoke to the council. The general absorbed every word, committing as much of it as he could to his memory. Never did they seem to tire of their lengthy explanation, and the general couldn’t help but wonder the machinations behind such a revelation. When finally the last words had been spoken, Saint was the first to speak, immediately moving to disprove the words of the Thendári with a demonstration of magic. The general had little experience with the arts, but he could easily gauge the intention behind the spell was not hostile, and he remained calm in his seat despite the murmured voices of disapproval. Picking up on the discomfort that suddenly filled the room, the Tynir quickly pinpoint it’s source as the blackened orb floating in Saint’s hands. The same was concluded when he created an orb of light.

The Paladins were quick and sharp, striking down his attempt with sharp words and unwavering certainty. A cold chuckle escaped him, as he glanced between the two. “In truth, the Ambassador of the Mountains of Night is correct. To invade a nation, even if it is just to stop the actions of a single man and then retreat, demand facts aside from your memory, and yet…all you have provided is that you recognize his ‘signature’ on all these events, only to then immediately say that it is not his signature, but pure shadow? Your testimony casts shadows of doubt, Paladin.”

“Do you have any other evidence, aside from memories of a time that most present were not even alive to witness?”

Jean had to close his eyes to contain his emotions at the I’nak’s outburst. So primitive, so stupid. Again the Vatiennien had to ask himself to pertinence of bringing in these savages to this council when apparently all they wanted to do was fight. ‘Smack first, ask questions later’ was an ideology that had its place in the Stone Age, not here.

When the I’nak had started screaming in its mother tongue, Jean had absolutely no idea what it was talking about. When the primitive being was finished its temper tantrum, Jean slowly opened his eyes.

“A figure of speech, my I’nak friend, is used to put emphasis on what you’re saying and sometimes gives a different color to my words. That is why I dragged the Emperor in all of this, no need to get excited about that. As for the useless display of... violence,” said Jean, clearly looking at the crumpled parchment and ruffled quill, “I urge you do not over react like this again and content yourself to be seen, not heard unless you have something constructive to say.” Jeans voice had been growing in intonation and volume in a steady crescendo, demonstrating his discontent state of the I’nak’s reaction.

As soon as Jean had finished talking, the snake-like... thing spoke. Amazingly, his words were directed at soothing the I’nak as well. Then, as Jean would have guessed, the snake-thing turned its attention to Jean. The priest listened to what the thing had to say, and then a small smile crept up his face as it was finishing its last sentence.

“Well, a state is indeed sovereign over itself. However, when that so-called sovereignty poses threat to the rest of the world, the world has priority over that one states sovereignty. That is the sacrifice that is expected for a country to make when an international council like this expects to find a solution that will suit the majority of the people and countries of Emoria.”

Before Jean had time to draw another breath, the Tynir stood up like an arrow. As the brute spoke, it thought wise to try and intimidate Jean. Intimidation gets you nowhere within aristocratic circles. The more the Tynir spoke, the more repetitive he got. The Tynir thought he could get under Jean’s skin by staring at him in the eye. Obviously, he could not.

“You avoid answering my question once again, General. Know that my suspicion and that of the world only grows with your stubbornness. That matters little now, however. I am content, however, about both of your propositions. I am in agreement with you to unveil the location of your new constructs in due time. Also, the Emperor will, of course, accept you and your Dark Lady. We shall discuss the finer points of this later and in private.”

Jean decided to leave everything at that for now. There will be plenty of time for confrontation later. Now, Jean continued to listen as the council progressed. Refreshingly, the Thendari took the floor. Their long explanation shed no new light on the matter, as Jean and his own countries’ investigators had drawn the exact same conclusions. Still, it felt nice to listen to someone express the same views that Jean and Vatienne had.

Then Saint spoke. He spoke, and Jean was going to have to bring attention to him later on some points about his High Inquisitors and a certain tour. Anyway, Saint not only spoke, but he executed a demonstration. And what a demonstration it was... What Jean thought was funny about all of this was that the elf actually thought to impress or sway those in the room. The effect probably went the opposite way. Jean was to verbally smack him in the face, but his elven friends proceeded to doing just that. Then, the Tynir asked another question. Jean saw fit to reply.

“Well, general, you have to think about it. You should try it, it really helps. But we must look at this like a scene of a crime, because, in essence, it is just that. Morgarath, as the paladins have stated earlier, is pure shadow... an excrement of the Shadow plane and of Shadow itself, if you will.” Jean simply could not resist drawing that comparison, however childish and immature it was. “Now, a ‘signature’, as is the case for everyone, is a representation of that of whom it hails. So, taking into accordance the fact that Morgarath is a being of pure shadow, and a signature is a representation of one’s being, it makes perfect sense that his signature be pure shadow. So our elven friends testimony draws no shadows of doubt, as you ironically put it.

So, if we continue this situational examination of a scene of a crime, we must take in all of the accounts and elements of the potential scene. In this case, we have a ‘signature’ of some sort and a missing person or persons. So, like relieving the finger prints of a criminal through magical introspect, relieving a signature of a cast spell is the same thing but of a more mystical design. So, since this ‘finger print’ matches someone, we can calmly and surely deduct the culprit behind at least some of these kidnappings; Morgarath and his minions.”

That was all Jean had to say at the moment

He chuckled, looking to the priest with a amused smirk. “You’re like a pup that’s been separated from it’s meal. All you do is whine, blame and insult others, and absolutely refuse to look on your own short-comings.” He remained calm, truly amazed at the priest’s tenacity for mud-slinging. “I withheld information from this council, that has nothing to do with the present crisis, despite the your insistance. If we wanted war and to conquer, I would have come to this city at the head of a warhost, not with three warriors and Zahiik Tusohe.”

“You attack and slander endlessly those who do not conform to your views of this world, or perhaps it is your apathetic god’s view, and then demand that we put unwavering faith in the testimony of a single people? Who’s exploits have remained locked away so that only they and the supposed source of these kidnappings may know what has been done. You yourself have already spoken so earnestly against state secrets. I myself do not like the thought of a nation doing whatever it deems fit to fight shadow, and locking away it’s crimes from the world. That is far worse than a source of weaponry, Ambassador, but you have raised no protest. I shall respect their right to deem it a 'state' secret, but I find this to be a most curious development."

The general laced his fingers in front of his face, chuckling at the priest. “Or perhaps I am incorrect in my beliefs about this meeting? Is this just a chance for you and your allies to throw blame wherever you deem it fit, providing us all only memories of a signature that has not been seen in thousands of years? Hostility is all that we have faced. Captain Waters has even been threatened by other delegates, and yet you act as if nothing is wrong, lest someone outside of your circle does something you do not like?”

He turned his gaze to the pirate and gave a bow of his head. “Forgive the actions of this council, Captain Waters. What the supposed Paladins have said is unacceptable, and should not have been permitted.” Examining each member present for a moment longer, he nodded to himself. Any who looked closely would notice thick flecks of black littering his normally jade eyes.

“Do the Paladins have anything else to support their claims, aside from ancient memories?”

Jean sighed deeply at the rudeness, insults and incoherence of the Tynir general. The Vatiennien was getting greatly tiresome of the impertinence of this general. Yet, Jean made the effort to answer the general in a calm tone. Although the big brute was starting to deeply annoy Jean, he kept his cold blood. The priest had dealt with bigger meat-heads in the past.

“Although I admit I have been rather wild in my behaviour in the past, nothing of what you say has transpired recently. I have not blamed without reason and your own opinion about the reason and basis for the blaming is yours and yours alone, but do not say that it is incoherent just because you do not understand it or because you do not believe it true.

The present crisis, general, has everything to do with this matter that is your armaments dilemma. The present crisis is everything and anything that may present a danger to the peoples of Emoria. I humbly and sincerely ask a simple question, which is the origin of your arms, only to be met with a violent answering by your I’nak friend and personal insults by yourself. Now I honestly think that Tynir generals are capable of greater respect and I think you are in a position to show that side.

I also ask that you do not drag my god in this discussion for He has no place in your useless insults to my person. Now, if you wish to know something about my country because you believe in eye-for-an-eye in what you consider state ‘secrets’, then, by all means, ask me and I will answer you to the best of my knowledge. As for your accusation of the potential of my country being in the least bit hypocrite, I do not understand them.

And, with all due respect, I hope you do not think that my certain dislikes have no foundation? If I do not like a certain people or person, it is not because I am close minded, but because that person or people have caused grief to mine: It as simple as that.

For the last thing that I wish to say, I truly wonder what more proof you wish to see regarding the kidnappings. The paladins and I have explained quite well, I think, on what a signature is, that it cannot be faked, why it is made of shadow, that Morgarath is made of shadow and that a signature is like a finger print and belongs to one person, and one person only.

So, as an act of good faith, I would like to say to you, general, and ask you that you refrain from such blatant insults and to please refrain to not laugh at me or anyone else in this room. That is all I have to say in the matter.”

Jean hoped the Tynir’s answer was to be at least civil.

“You don’t see hypocrisy, Ambassador?” Ayurent’s voice lost it’s warmth, as the general’s eyes locked with the priest, slowly filtering into a vibrant purple. “Tell me…does the world know of the transgressions of the VEF?” He let the silence hang in the air for a moment, slowly rising from his seat. “No, I suppose such actions would be written off as a ‘state’ secret. Attempted genocide of an entire culture doesn’t exactly leave everyone with a pleasant taste in the mouth, now does it? I’m sure you know all about it. How your men tore the dead from their resting places? How you tried to drown a people in your religion, and violated everything they held dear, in some attempt to bring ‘civilization’ to ‘uncultured savages’?”

His voice rose in volume, as his fist smashed against the wood of the desk. “You do not see your hypocrisy? Then you are a blind fool who has no right to stand in this council, human. You damn everything you cannot control. You tell honoured delegates from other nations that they are cursed and wrong! You speak words of poison and venom, and yet all you do is ignore everything that does not agree with your narrowed view of the world.” The Tynir’s eyes flashed violently, but his mind was calm, knowing full well that an attempts to harm the priest would lead to undesirable consequences.

“I have asked, with all due respect, that the Paladins and yourself provide more evidence than you have and you insult me by saying I do not think? I expected more from the ‘noble’ Ambassador of the supposed country of light. I have treated you with the utmost respect, and only resorted to calling you a child when it became clear that you would not listen to anything other than insults. I have your attention now, though, don’t I? Would you ever speak to one of your own in the manner you have spoken to those present today? No. I treated you with respect, Ambassador, and I am merely a general. Battle is my theatre, not the council room. You should know the lessons of this play better than me, and yet you rave and cast blame with but a single shred of evidence that relies entirely on memory. Your hypocrisy is clear as day, Poitiers, and I trust you have the wisdom to see it and check your tongue, before I feel the need to do it myself.”

Silence hung in the air for a moment longer, before Siade Ayurent sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “My apologies, honoured delegates. I did not wish to stoop to such lows, but I had no other options.” He looked to the one in charge and bowed his head, eyes tinged with traces of orange. “Lady Carnil, please forgive my outburst. It will not happen again. With your permission, I wish to speak once more.”

A soft nod earned a smile from his lips, and he looked to the Thendari.

“Paladins, once again, I ask you. Do you have any other evidence to support your claims? As said by Ambassador Poitiers, Morgarath was a being of Shadow. Is it not at all possible that other beasts from such a plane could have come through, such as the diplomat from the elemental planes? All options must be explored, not the one we deem the simplest. Thank you.”

With a parting glance at Jean, Ayurent returned to his seat.

Things are certainly getting interesting.

As the Ionairus scanned the room, Venteux’s eyes fell on each delegate.

There sat the pompous and accusing priest, a man she had thought would be the most civil and conscious, but whom she now found alienating. There was the hero from Spire who had traveled far to tell of his tale and who was brushed aside all the same. There was the swamp sorceress of fire whose eyes revealed more than her words and who had traveled far just from her people’s curiosity, not an unworthy sentiment. There was the pirate captain, a man she found peculiar and out of place; why was the man even present but to attest to his own innocence in a matter that lacked his concern? There was the chieftain from distant lands that, despite the chaos around him, maintained a calm demeanor, one she so wished the others could obtain and who offered himself to the cause, even though his people were not in harm. There was the feline scout who was concerned with the safety of his country’s borders, a fear that she, herself, could understand. But that wasn’t the only reason she was drawn to him; there was a strange power she felt from him that seemed only to affect her heart. Yet there was the I’nak woman, one of the beast-folk, whose violence was shocking, but whose situation she almost found familiar, that of one so far from home and in a distant and much different land. And then there was the Tynir general, also of the mysterious beast-folk, which posed quite the question: Who has the right bear to arms? Then there was the serpent-man whose aura was strange and whose presence was suspicious, even to her open mind. There stood the paladins of the island, elves sworn to the Light, an ally, however distant, in the war to keep the Shadow contained in its own plane. And then there was the representative from the Mountains of Night, the only man here worthy of her people’s contempt.

There was a distinct theme, Venteux found. One that was quite peculiar, to say the least. Every account of a kidnapping included the same elements: traces of shadow magic, a missing diplomat and a strange signature. Venteux could only conclude that each kidnapping was committed by the same person or persons.

Unfortunately, that was all she could conclude.

Others, however, had come to much more sweeping conclusions than the Ionairus had and those conclusions were ripping the Council apart at the seams.

The return of Morgarath, sudden increases in armaments, volatile ancient wars… these things all clouded the Council’s judgment. Where was the evidence for bringing these issues here? What did these things have to do with the kidnappings at all? She almost felt as if the Ancient Council had made a mistake in sending her to this meeting. How could these people, with histories so convoluted and prejudices so strong, even begin to understand how to handle this situation? The delegate of her people had been kidnapped, or worst, slain.

And no one seems to give a Raafurie’s tail about it.

Venteux never was one prone to anger, but, as the bestial woman pounded the table in rage, she felt only sympathy for her. No one was listening to her plight like no one was listening to Venteux’s. The Elemental Planes had always strayed from the battles and politics of the Material Plane and, for the first time, Venteux was beginning to understand why.

Venteux was suddenly aware of her own naive nature. Compared to most of her kind, she knew vast amounts about the outside world, the Material Plane, but, compared to those here in the Council Chambers, the winged women was but a child to it all. She knew so little about them, these beings of the main plane of life.

This fact traveled to her heart as the immortal paladins revealed their tale. It was a history so long and foreign, but, at the same time, it spoke to her deeply. In a distant way, it was familiar. It was the story of a world so far, distant and secretive that few even knew its history.

A world much like her own.

Her musings were interrupted by Saint, this time, with something more than the words that were so common in this room. Her eyes followed his movements with exactness. Yet she didn’t raise a hand for she knew of the Library’s defenses and she also knew that Saila would have reacted had his actions been a threat. Even with this knowledge of the neutrality of the magic, Venteux wondered.

You see, both spells seemed to come from two different sources, even though the source was the same. One was clearly shadow-based, a power clearly explained by the dark elf’s allegiance to the Mountains of Night. The second, however, was a paradox. How had the man learned how to use light-based magic? Rarely was it ever found a person who could use more than one type of opposing magic. Even those from the Elemental Planes rarely manifested the ability to use a magic not from their own plane. Holding the power over more than one element, be it Light, Shadow or otherwise, was believed, at least, by those of the Elemental Planes, to have ill effects on the soul.

However, Saint was only showing the signatures of that type of magic. Perhaps it was possible to create an illusion of the signature without using the magic itself. Of such things, she did not know.

“Is it not at all possible that other beasts from such a plane could have come through, such as the diplomat from the elemental planes? All options must be explored, not the one we deem the simplest.”

The words made her feathered ears twitch and her eyes move to the man. She was being addressed, however indirectly. His question warranted a response.

“No creature of Shadow has come from the four Elemental Portals, I can assure you. Our portals are guarded. As for the Material Plane’s portal, I have guarded it for quite some time now and I have found no creature of that nature to have penetrated it on my watch. I cannot speak for the Light or Shadow Portal, however. Those are guarded by Aendrel and the Mountains of Night, respectively.”

Dasciis was absolutely appalled by the meeting so far. How could these people let issues that weren't even related cloud their minds and effect their judgement on an entirely different matter?

After the response by the representative of the Plane of Air, Dasciis stood abrubtly.

"I apologize if I'm speaking out of turn, but I fear that our discussion is slowly being diverted from its intended course. I understand that there are issues between Vatienne and...well, many other nations of Emoria. However, the simple fact is that Vatienne is not capable of praciticing such dark magic as has been seen in the kidnappings, which, I will remind you, the Vatienne's have also suffered from. Therefore, I believe it pertinent to leave political maneuvering out of our discussion for the time being. I, frankly, do not care about mending the relations between Vatienne and the peoples of Renrijra Krin. I did not attend this council for that purpose, and I would prefer if you did not waste my time here.

"On to the discussion at heart: my own people have investigated these disappearances as well as we are able. I will admit, we are not very practiced in magic. Indeed, the only Spirean who is well-versed in magic would be our king. Therefore, I must agree that the issue of 'magic signatures' cannot be accepted as evidence as far as we are concerned, because we have little to no access to the medium used to evaluate it. I ask that we bring in further evidence to determine who is responsible for these kidnappings.

"Valinyx would be, I belive, ideally suited to answer many of Spire's concerns about the kidnapping of Torser, our master of the Guild of Heroes. I was hoping to meet a representative of the nation here, though it appears they were unable to make it. This strikes me as...more than a coincidence, and perhaps something that bears looking into. So, rather than bickering endlessly in this council room, and perhaps doing more harm than good, I propose we head out into the far reaches of Emoria to discover what evidence there is to find. Send delegates into Valinxy, Breale, and other absent nations. Find out what they know, and then bring that information back here.

"I think that without this effort in obtaining factual evidence that is useful to all of us we will get nowhere. I also propose that our search be organized here and no, so that we can maximize our efficiency and, if we are lucky, mend some old wounds through the effort of cooperation. What say you?"

Dasciis sat back down in his seat. He wasn't too hopeful on what their responses would be, based on what he had seen so far. But it was the only option he could see working.

“Pirate, we acknowledge your presence and wish to express our contempt for you and your kind. There is no such thing as neutrality among thieves; your day of reckoning approaches.”

Boyd made eye contact with the Paladin as he made his remarks. The pirate Captain arrogantly puckered his lips blowing the elf a kiss accompanied by a taunting wink. What the elf had said was nothing more than empty words and the pirate didn’t think twice about them. The Paladins went on forcing the council to suffer through a boring history lesson, which Boyd had to stop listening to early on for his sanity’s sake.

The council seemingly spiraled out of control following the Paladins’ words. Boyd was slightly surprised it had taken this long for things to get heated. Delegates went back and forth with one another, and the Pirate simply set back and enjoyed the show. He found it humorous. He also found it hard to believe in the Morgarath theory. Does this bunch really think a fairytale is behind Emoria’s kidnappings, he asked himself. Boyd thought again and realized it didn’t matter so long as the blame didn’t get aimed his way.

“Captain Waters,” hearing his name brought him out of thought. “Has even been threatened by other delegates, and yet you act as if nothing is wrong, lest someone outside of your circle does something you do not like? Forgive the actions of this council, Captain Waters. What the supposed Paladins have said is unacceptable, and should not have been permitted.”

“Sticks and stones, General, sticks and stones.” Boyd shrugged, showing he was unaffected by what had been said by the Paladins.

The arguing continued until finally someone stood to put an end to the madness. The Spiran had rose and in a moments time had seemingly restored some order to the council. He touched on the magic signatures nonsense, and wasn’t entirely convinced either. He also spoke of a taking action.

“What say you?"

“I say its about damn time we figure out a course of action. My ship and my men are at the council’s disposal… free of charge of course.” Boyd blurted as the Spiran finished.

Jean sat expressionless through the Tynir’s explosive outburst. This general has obviously never been in a Senate room or executive caucus: what he was saying was complete ludicrous. Jean was effectively tired of this. Although, the priest had to admit he was having fun at the thought that the Tynir was probably thinking that he had Jean on the run with his far-fetched arguments. That was all Jean was doing since he opened his mouth to talk to the Tynir: toying with the thing. Make it think that he was out-maneuvering the priest at his own game. Jean had full conscious on what he was saying and knew what the general was going to say before he said it; because it was the logical thing anyone would say in any debate. This false-sense of superiority was going to be used against the Tynir later. Typical, typical game. Jean loved it.

Jean, however, always thought in the additional excitement of giving his enemy a chance, no matter how small they are. He was about to give one right now. It will be a very small clue, but one nonetheless. Very, very small.

After the winged woman, Spirean and pirate spoke, Jean gave his clue to the Tynir general: a quick, maniacal, playful glare that was at the same time full of hilarity. As fast as the Vatiennien gave the look, his face became stone-cold once again. He then spoke very briefly to the Tynir, as if nothing happened.

“Sir Dasciis is correct; we will continue our explosive engagement later… in private.”

Jean then turned to the entirety of the council.

“As much as I and my paladin friends believe in our Morgarath theory, and that we have incontestable proof that Morgarath is back, it appears as if our proof isn’t rational enough for some people, and I will have to deal with that.

However, I would just like to ask that everyone at least consider that Morgarath has returned. Vatienne and Aendrel have not come up with these conclusions because we thought it would be convenient. Believe me when I say both of our countries want very badly that the evidence not point towards Morgarath, but it does. Just keep in mind all that we have said, as it may prove useful in the future, just in case.

Now, as means of finding factual evidence, I propose that we separate this council into voluntary groups. The places that should be thought of destination are Valinyx and the Breale homeland, as the hero from Spire mentioned, the Mountains of Night, for my countries’ and the paladin’s concerns, and the Tynir homeland, for the concerns of Kvatch. If there are anymore places that wished to be proposed or taken off, just say so.”

Jean wondered how the council would react to his rather improvised idea. He hoped they were to make some changes to it.
__________________________________________________________

This morning, in Vatienne...

The sun was at its zenith and the blue sky spotless when the Grand Cathedral rang its bell twelve times signaling that it was noon. As it would be, when all of the priests, monks and scholars take their lunch, the Grand Cathedral was completely empty. Save for one.

The man was wearing silver shoes with golden laces with a large white robe embroidered with gold and various gems at the borders of the vestment. Over the robe, he wore a silvery-white cloak that was also embroidered with gold at its borders, but this one had the specification that had words written on them. Words that were sown in the fabric using a faintly glowing material that is unknown to all but few. What was written with the glowing thread were ancient prayers in a language used by a very early version of the religion of the Sanctus Unus, totally lost today. The man was now leader of the modern version of that religion and its practitioners.

Papus Gregoire IX of Vatienne was kneeling in front of the main altar at the very front of the cathedral alone, without any guards, for he needed none. The midday light shining through the grand tainted windows of the building was bathing the aged man in pure light. His face was serene, his mind clear: he was praying. Ironically, it was at this time precisely that the archpriest felt something strange.

All of a sudden, the air around him started becoming cold, things started to loose their brilliance, and hope seemed to be drained from the holy man himself. The Papus opened his eyes immediately, but nothing looked different, but something definitely felt different.

As soon as the odd feeling had appeared, it left him. At that moment, the old man realized what had happened. He had never felt this in his whole life-time, nor had any Papus for two thousand years.

What Gregoire IX felt was a little taste of the shadow itself. It was teasing him, at the holiest of holiest places at the time where the Light was most present, noon. As ideas whirled in the old mans head, he slowly stood up and looked at the tainted windows on the roof that depicted the supposed destruction of Morgarath by the Papus of Old, almost two thousand years ago. He then sighed heavily.

“He is back,” said the man, not believing the words coming out of his mouth, even though the evidence was there: the kidnappings, the council of nations, the dark aura found in the heart of Vatienne herself… and now this.

The old man looked at his hands, and then at the building around him. “I…I…” stuttered the man, not being able to bare the responsibilities that have just befallen him: destroying Morgarath. “I cannot…”

The old man fell to his knees and put his face in his palms. The Papus knew that, if it came to a showdown between him and Morgarath, he would not succeed. He would fail his country, god and the world. A tear of despair and shame trickled down his wrinkled cheek.

At that very moment, a huge storm cloud could be seen covering the blue sky and the sun, cutting the City of Light from its Light.

Asmodeaus was old, and having been around for a long time himself would have made him learn cunning even had he not already possessed a large degree of it. This was one of the reasons he had been sent rather than one of the other sythen. The ruler typically was not called upon to risk himself, though he actually enjoyed it, the intrigue brought life back into his ancient body. Unlike their master the sythen did age, even if very slowly. While Asmodeaus was as old as some of the oldest of the thendari he was in no where near as good shape as they were. Which meant he had to be careful, old bones broke easily.

"My fellow councilorsss, may I remind you that many thingssss here could be ssssettled quite eassssily by asssking the race that travelssss the land conssstantly?" He paused for a second before smiling. Despite the serpentine appearance the smile was strangely reassuring, which was to be expected. It was incredibly subtle and not really magic in truth, just an old trick. "I am old, and I have sssseen many thingsss in my life. I ssssaw the darklord'ssss power in the warsss of iluria and I ssssaw what came before them. I have sssseen none of the ssssignsss that would have indicated hisss return." He paused and began to cough for a moment before once again continuing. "I know we are not alwaysss trusssted and that we are consssidered by many of you to be wandering ssscum, but our waysss do yield information. And ssssuch information asss I have I ssshare with you now"

He remained standing incase anyone had a comment to address towards him.

Following the Tynir's call for more solid evidence, the Thendári had been content to wait until the round of objections, confusion, manipulation, and counter ideas had been vented. It wouldn't do to let them build up.

The Thendári needed to convince the rest of Emoria of their plight. Morgarath would not bide his time after initiating his plan. Morgarath had already waited for 2,000 years. His time of waiting had surely been exhausted; he would not be denied. Morgarath would surely act now, before Emoria could respond and unite against him. It had already been many days since the kidnappings. If time was on Aendrel's side during this council, time was against them on a larger scale. Time was against Emoria altogether, and the Thendári, accustomed to the free spending of time, felt its shortage all the more urgently.

Irrihyánë (Aendrel and its allies of Äm) could not count on the safety of their land should the rest of Emoria fall under Morgarath's shadow. One by one, the darkness would overcome them all. If that happened, if Morgarath won, then Alos would Diminish and retreat to his plane of Light, there to recover for who could tell how long. An Age of Darkness would rule the fate of Emoria.

Worse, if that happened, the Rift would be left unguarded. If the Shadow tampered with it, the Thendári could only imagine what would result. Death itself would be unleashed. The dead would flood the Material plane and wander aimlessly, corrupting life at their leisure. The veils of the Planes themselves might be in danger. A war unlike anything since the very origins of life could take place -- this time without the Light. Who could say that the world itself was not at stake?


__________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________


Chälan asked to be called upon and subsequently stood up. "Of course you haven't seen the signs of Morgarath's return before now, Sythen. None of us have. This sudden crisis IS the sign of his return!"

He wanted to say that the Thendári would fight the Shadow with or without their help. He wished it were that simple. It was a testament to the gravity of the situation that, even if Aendrel, Äm and Vatienne joined forces, it would not be enough to drive back the Shadow. Not this time. Not if the beast tribes as well as the Mountains of Night were about to be unleashed.

No, the Thendári did not believe a word of the Tynir's placating. Nor did they hold any hope of real help from the pirates -- whose reason for even being here could only be to protect their own best interests. Of course, if the pirate clans really did aid the rest of Emoria through this crisis, it would go a long way toward redeeming themselves, as far as the Thendári were concerned. But if no one else, the Thendári needed at least the support of the Quendi and the Spirans. Though they approved of the Hero's call for cooperation, it was disappointing to hear him dismiss their proof as nonfactual.

"We live in a world of wonders beyond the mere breath of life, good Hero of Spire, whether you have obtained the capacity to see them or not. And yet, it does not take expertise in magic to witness the evidence of darkness that stains the site of each abduction. The unlearned may have no means to identify what they see and sense, but it is there nonetheless for all to sense and to see. How many testimonies will it take before you will believe it? Inquire of the Ionairus. Inquire of the Quendi. Indeed, ask your own Spiran investigators. Did they not all find the same thing?"

He turned to the council at large. "The greatest tactic of the Shadow is to hide itself in ubiquity, until darkness falls and it is time to strike. An enemy taken for granted is then ten times as strong, and the Shadow has been taken for granted for over a thousand years; even we Paladins are guilty of this. Emoria can no longer afford to take the Shadow for granted. Morgarath is real; Morgarath is alive; Morgarath is behind this; Morgarath is coming for Emoria. That is the truth. If Emoria would survive, it must unite against Morgarath. If the Mountains of Night would survive, it must join us.

"If there are still doubts, ask yourselves these questions: Who has the ability to simultaneously abduct several of Emoria's leaders? Who, among those able, would benefit from the resulting crisis and confusion? Who, among these, would commit to such a cause? What, if not Emoria's utter subjugation, could be the goal of that crisis? And what, if not complete conquest, should be raised against such a villain?"