Emoria: Chapter One; Kamon'Belkar

The storm clouds thundered, soaking all those foolish enough to stand in the torrential downpour. Crimson eyes watched the lightning arcing across the sky, seemingly immune to the chill that was creeping up her body. A heavy sigh rolled from her reddened lips, the air visible for the briefest of moments before vanishing into the raging storm. The water simply rolled off her towering frame, unable to catch a grip on the Tynir’s thick skin or her elegant robes of black and violet.

Her gaze flicked off to the north, and she nodded in quiet understanding to herself. “It’s time.” The voice was barely above a whisper, as she turned and stepped into the darkness of Kamon’Belkar. Her long, onyx hair trailed behind her as she navigated the maze of passageways to her chambers.

The guards, easily a foot shorter than their mistress, clasped their fists to their mouths in salute as she passed, closing the heavy stone doors behind her. The room was dimly lit, torches burning softly in the corners of the massive chamber. She crossed it quickly, and lowered herself onto her throne. The seat had been crafted from the bones of the many creatures that lurked in Korun Otak, and its snarling visage only added to the air of danger that hung around the Lady. A dark stone slab stretched out before her, normally meant for her meals but instead being improvised into a table for the others to sit round.

Her guests would arrive soon, and she allowed a smile to flicker across her features. It wasn’t difficult to see the writing on the wall. The world was drifting closer and closer to war, as age old hatreds and tensions started to rear their ugly heads once more. Even just the thought of war sent liquid fire coursing through her veins, and the details of the room sharpened in her gaze. Oh, how she longed for the chance to test her mettle against a worthy foe. All this cloak and dagger politics was pointless and a colossal waste of time in her eyes.

And the clothes which were meant to worn at such functions…the Tynir looked down at herself with a hint of distaste creeping into her eyes. The black cloth of her robe parted every so slightly between her breasts, and large swathes had been done away with on her sides, as if it was trying to reveal as much of her as physically possible while still being labeled clothing. She folded her legs, causing the length of the robe to split due to the elegant cut that had been made up the center, exposing more of her deep olive skin as dark crimson flicked about the chamber, eager to distract herself from this ridiculous garb.

Drumming out a soft tune on the rest of her throne, the Lady sighed once more. This boredom was endless, and her guests would need to arrive soon.

The messenger entered a flur smoked filled room. Hardy laughter rumbled in each corner, and sex, booze, and blood weighed as heavy in the air as the lingering smoke. The man’s pirate senses were nearly ensnared each way he turned. It was like an orgy of sin the pirate would have gladly joined had he not been sent by Lord Neess himself.

The man maneuvered through the room, stepping over passed out bodies lying in pools of wine and their own vomit, over turned chairs and tables, and naked women sprawled out on large floor pillows. From the sight of things, the party had been raging on all night and morn and was just now coming to an end, yet there was a group, laughing and chanting, gathered at back of the room.

The pirate made his way over to the five men and the one pirate they were grouped around, Captain Terris Neess.


Captain Terris Neess was likely the most dangerous pirate Captain that sailed Emoria’s oceans. The son of a pirate Lord, his reputation was growing rapidly. Captain Neess was known for his ruthlessness and bloodlust. When taking a ship, he would normally kill everyone on board but not before torturing them brutally in front of one another. Terris typically left one poor, tortured soul alive to tell the tale. (does not have a peg leg like shown in link)


The Captain was repeatedly flipping a dagger arrogantly into the air before catching it as the men around him argued and laughed to one another. Several yards ahead, propped against the far wall was the body of a Fermatan whose person was littered with knives and daggers of varying sizes.

“Shut up!” Terris screamed to the surrounding men, and they all fell silent. “The bet is; I can’t get the blade between his eyes! Lay down if ya’a’man!” Each pirate thought for a moment before tossing an item onto an already large pile of knives, bottles of rum, rings, necklaces, silks, and a number of other valuables.

Once all the bets were in, Terris drew back the dagger and readied it to hurl. Everyman watched intently as…

“Captain Terris?” The messenger asked from the outside of the circle just as the Captain was making his throw. The dagger struck off to the left of its target, plunging into the corpse’s eye. The other pirates cheered with laughter as they began collecting their winnings and dividing the pile up.

“SHUT UP! SHUT UP, AND PUT IT BACK! ALL IF IT, YOU DOGS!” Terris screamed furiously, his face red like fire with anger. Every man dropped what they had and froze where they were. “WHO WAS IT! WHO DID IT! WHO CALLED MY NAME AND DISTRACTED ME!” The pirates forming the group all turned their stares onto the messenger.

“Ahem,” the lone pirate gulped. “Captain Terris, your father, Lord Neess has sent me. He wishes an audience,” he said nervously.

“Well, perfect timing!” Terris stated suddenly and cheerfully. His entire demeanor had changed, as if he hadn’t just been screaming bloody murder. Even the other pirates looked puzzled.

“Captain?” The messenger asked, not sure what he meant.

“We’re in need of a new target; as you can see, our current one is a bit… well, dead.”

“What? Wait!” The messenger began to back away.

“Grab him!” Terris demanded of his men. The five pirates rushed the one and easily subdued him. “Get him to the wall!”

“NO! NO! Nooooo!” The messenger pleaded while they drug him against his will.


Lord Neess’s chamber doors opened, and Terris entered.


Hon'ar Neess, or the Cat was believed by his men to have nine lives. On his thirty-second birthday, just one week after he had assumed the title of Lord over the Pothorst Clan, he and a small number of close friends and crewmen had gathered for a celebration dinner. Little did Hon’ar know that his cake and wine had been heavily poisoned by those in attendance. Legend had it that the group had sat around for hours waiting for him to die before one of them had grown impatient and stood up and ran a blade through his chest. Hon’ar, according to story, had pulled the sword from his chest and used it to cut down every last one of them.


“Father?”

“Here!” Lord Neess replied from the corner of the large room where he sat at a desk. The room was very practical for a pirate Lord. There was a bed in one corner, several fur rugs covering the floor in areas, a fireplace at the center of the adjacent wall surrounded by a few chairs, and a portrait of a beautiful, elegantly dressed woman hanging above the mantel.

The Lord left his desk to greet his son with a hardy hug. “Good to see you, my boy! How was your voyage?” He asked releasing his hold.

“Fine, father. You sent for me?”

“Yes. I will be leaving to attend a council of sorts in Korun Otak, and I’m leaving you in charge while I’m away.”

“Why? What could we possibly have to gain?”

“More than you know. If what they say is true then we stand to gain a much larger foothold over the other clans, that is if they don’t accept the invitation themselves. I won’t sit around to find out. I make sail in the morn.”

“This is dumb! Our intensions would be better served elsewhere! All of Emoria is in disarray with the kidnappings. Now is the-” Lord Neess’s hand smacked across Terris’s face, silencing his outburst.

“You forget your place, Captain. I am Lord of this clan, and your father, and you will speak to me as such. When and IF you are ever Lord you may run this clan as you see fit. I just hope it is with a bit more sense. I will not let an opportunity pass my clan by… Do you understand?”

“Yes, my Lord.”

“Good. You’re dismissed. Expect word from me once I’ve arrived in Korun Otak.”

Korun Otak, Kamon’Belkar
Several days later

The large stone doors opened, and Lord Neess entered the chambers escorted by two Tynir guards.

“My Lady.” Han’ar removed his hat and bowed slightly. “Lord Neess, of the pirating clan Pothorst.”

There was a sudden flickering of the torches that lit the large room. It was as if a dark breeze or perhaps a wind had blown through the sealed council chamber. The torches continued to dim steadily until at last their light had died to the point where they could barely illuminate any of the room. Suddenly they all went out completely. A part of the far wall suddenly changed, a dark mass of shadows erupted from the floor and slowly rose to cover a portion of the wall. A creature that looked like a withered beaten man walked through the portal carrying a strange looking horn of sorts. The wretched creatures raised the horn and blew and mournful sound came from it.

It then spoke loudly, though in a highly terrified voice. "Hail Morgarath Lord of Shadows, Rightful ruler of all emoria, GodKing of the mountains of night, Destroyer of Hope, Prince of Darkness. Hail, Avarinne Lady of shadows, Bride of the Dark lord." With that the creature scampered away to cower in one of the corners of the room..

The Darkness of the portal suddenly seemed to become less absolute as figures appeared in it and slowly walked out. First came several beings whose presence seemed chilling and cold. They wore black armor that covered their whole bodies but seemed to barely hinder them. The Highers took up positions to either side of the portal, supposedly to guard their lord when he arrived. Not that Morgarath really had much need of being guarded. After the Highers had taken up position two other figures emerged from the portal.

One of the figures was a being that nearly anyone in Emoria would recognize on sight. Shadows clung to the robed figure and the balefire yellow eyes glowed from the shadowed face below the hood. The Dark lord had arrived. His shadowed face turned to survey the room and lit briefly on the Lady of the Tynir. Then it finished its sweep. He was not amused, but he understood the necessity of the this meeting. Besides, it would be useful to bring the pirates and such into the fold. Plus the benefits of explaining the details to his minions were that he wouldn't have to watch all of them at once. Even his power was not enough on its own to destroy everything that stood against him. No matter though, he had planned for this day for almost 2000 years. Though a voice inside nagged him, he had been certain before the final battle of the illuric wars as well. Certain he would crush the armies at his gates and his legions would once more pour forth to destroy Vatienne and their quendie minions. And yet something had happened, while he had survived the battle it had been by the narrowest of margins and for the first time in his countless millennia of existence he had felt fear in his darkened heart.

The reminitions had lasted less than a moment though and not noticeably interrupted his motions. Already the momentary flash of doubt had faded from his mind to be replaced by the calculating and ruthless creature that had nearly brought the world to its knees years ago. His eyes flashed and there was a faintly disturbing laugh that apparently had come from him as there was no other being who would seem to have found something humorous in the situation. His gaze swept the room once more as if he was observing those who had arrived and those who had yet to arrive.

His hand moved in a subtle gesture to indicate for Avarinne to follow him as he walked slowly and arrogantly to the table. Somehow it did not seem that he was playing up his power and the walk that would have been perceived if done by others as cocky or presumptuous simply seemed to fit. He sat down upon one of the chairs and a moment later Avarinne sat down in the chair next to him. As if their having sat down was a trigger the creature cowering in the corner blew another blast from the horn. Then slowly straitened up again. Its terrified voice sounded again. "Welcome the retainers of the Darklord. Sythysss son of Asmodeous, Lesothis Lord of the Highers, The Master Lich, Lairelosse sister to Saint hand of darkness, and the First of the Naether Wraiths." This time after the creature had ceased speaking Morgarath lifted his hand and bolt of darkness flew from it to engulf the miserable thing. It screamed for a moment before dying and being consumed by the shadow that slowly flowed back over to rejoin Morgarath.

The others that the herald had named before its death entered the room soon after. Sythysss like all of the sythen was completely covered so that only his face showed in order to conserve precious heat. The higher lord wore similar if far more ornate armor than the guards who stood to either side of the portals that had brought them here. The Naether wraith could barely be seen but a scythe was gripped in one of its ethereal hands, a scythe that bore a strange similarity to the one that Nilus had been given in his dream.

After all those who had been announced had arrived Morgarath at last spoke. "Greetings, I quite like what you have done with the place. I am pleased to see you have been using the resources and advisors properly as I instructed." He raised a shadowed hand for a moment and then chuckled. "The time has come however for things to begin. How has the mobilization of your forces progressed, when will you be ready?"

Cold eyes found the pirate lord as he entered, as the Lady rose from her throne and gave a short bow herself. The two guards saluted, before retreating from the room and closing the great stone doors behind them. “Welcome to Kamon’Belkar, Lord Neess.” She descended towards him, her body moving with a dancer’s grace as she approached the pirate. “I trust your journey wasn’t too difficult? Korun Otak can be quite unforgiving to those who have not faced it’s waters before.” A smile split her face, before she motioned for him to take his seat. “The others shall be here shortly, Lord Neess. We won’t have to wait long.”

As she sank back into her throne, Meyul noticed the dimming of the torches in the chamber, and a cold chuckle escaped her lips. She had met with the dark lord many a time, and there were ways to tell of his arrival. He truly had a flair for making a proper entrance. The dark portal opened, and a herald emerged announcing the Dark Lord’s presence, along with that of his Bride. A brow was raised at this, as she had never before truly met with the Dark Lady, having only heard of her in brief snippits that Morgarath had revealed, which left much to the imagination.

As they entered, Meyul bowed her head to their approach, making sure the pirate did so as well from the corner of her eye. She briefly locked eyes with the Dark One, her emotionless red locking with his powerful yellow, before he chuckled darkly. The ends of her mouth curled up briefly, knowing full well that his amusement would certainly mean endless suffering for some unfortunant soul.

At the death of the herald, the Lady found herself chuckling again under her breath, as the remainder of their allies entered from the dark portal. A skeletal head, dressed in strange gems and metals floated through the portal, heavy robes fluttering beneath it. No hands could be seen in it’s sleeves, nor did any legs appear from it’s robes. It’s soulless gaze spread across the room, before taking it’s place near it’s infernal master.

When Morgarath at last spoke, Meyul nodded. “Of course, Dark One.” Her powerful frame leaned forward in her chair, crossing her legs once more as she addressed him. “Kamon’Belkar shall be complete before the month it out, so long as no unforeseen problems arise. The outer battlements will be ready in two months, and then we shall begin construction on various projects inside the battlements.”

She smiled, her teeth glinting in the dim light. “As for my army, my battle groups stand ready for mobilization at a moment’s notice, Lord Morgarath. You need only give the word, and I will have warhosts dispatched immediately to wherever they are needed.”

“Ella! Ella!” Lord Mosonn yelled, as he stormed through his manor frantically.


Clollrad Mosonn, by far was the most mysterious of the three pirate Lords. He at one point had been a highly intelligent man, diverse in many languages, cultures, and religions of Emoria; however, power and paranoia warped him to madness. It’s rumored he had several look-a-likes that took his place at any public appearances, and that he hadn’t actually left the confines of his fortress in years.


Clollrad had the look of a madman hurrying down the hallway towards Ella’s personal chambers. “Ella!” he shouted upon barging through the door. The room had more the look of a cave. It was poorly lit by two burning torches, and a thin layer of smoke ran along the surface of the floor from where it was bubbling over the top of a cauldron burning in the fireplace. There were two tables against the wall, one with several caged animals, and the other littered with countless jars of their parts.


“Ella! Ella!” Clollrad screamed pointlessly as he searched the empty room.

“Here, my love.” Ella’s cloaked figured appeared on the outside of the door way.


Ella Ale'ryn had been a Jasidin sorceress and a member of the prophet sect. She had been taken captive many years ago by the Adorno Clan. Clollrad, being familiar with her kind, saw the benefit of keeping her alive and at his side. Many of his men credited Ella for his madness, but none would dare peep a word of it, for she soon shared his bed, too.


Clollrad rushed to her grabbing her violently.”Where in Emoria have you been! You know I can’t trust any of these damn vermin!”

The woman relaxed into him, and his grip softened into a hug. “It’s alright, my love… I’m here now, and I have had a vision on what we must do.”

“Thank Wee Jas! You have seen our path, then?”

“I have,” she pulled herself away from him. “We will accept the Tynir’s invitation.”

“What of the council in Nolwë Osto?”

“There is war on the horizon, my love, and the line is being drawn…We need to see that we are allied with the victor.”

Clollrad nodded. “We have ships bound for Kvatch to make trade in the morrow. Under that pretense we may be able to slip through their boarders and into Korun Otak without notice. From there the journey will be a dangerous one, though," he said with a hint of his intellect showing.

“Then we must take our normal precautions…”

---

“The journey was eventful to say the least, my Lady. Your land’s dangers proved true to their reputation. I had set anchor at your northern gulf, and traveled by small boat down the channel hoping to limit casualties. It did no such thing… I hope it was all for not, and this council will be as beneficial as your letter stated it would be.”

The pirate nodded as she offered him a seat. He moved and took the closest chair to the door. Hon’ar had no idea what to expect, but if things went south he would have an easy path for the exit and would cut down anyone in his way.

Lord Neess looked to the Lady as she snickered seemingly randomly. Suddenly the shadows at the far wall flared into a portal. From its depths a pathetic vile thing crawled and sounded its horn announcing the Dark Lord’s arrival.

He glanced to the Lady and mimicked her gesture, bowing slightly at Morgarath’s presence. He continued to watch as more strange creatures stepped from the darkness. What in Emroia, Hon’ar thought in awe as he watched on. There was no doubting the Dark One’s legitimacy.

The pirate lord simply listened as the two got down to business. His dark brown eyes shifting back and forth from the two…

---

The large stone doors parted once more, and Lord Mosonn entered the council escorted by the same two guards who had shown Hon’ar in. The pirate lord entered the room completely, bowing to those present.

“Forgive my tardiness. As you may know these lands are unkind to its travelers. It did not prove an easy task venturing them… May I sit?”

Clollrad found a chair opposite Lord Neess, giving him a nod as he joined the table.

---

“Ahem,” Lord Neess cleared his throat. “With all due respect there are some of us that aren’t up to speed, and are still unsure of their purpose here at this council.

I may be speaking for myself,” he glanced to his fellow pirate lord, and then back to the Dark Lord and the Lady. “But I'm here because I am willing to aid your plot, but to what end and how?”

Morgarath had nodded as the Lady of the Tyrnir spoke. She was living up to expectations so far. Which was to be expected he noted to himself, after all he had given the power and he knew what it was capable. When the second pirate lord had staggered in late and stammered an apology Morgarath had turned his head towards the puny man. The face that stared out from the shadows of the dark one's hood glared with a horrible intensity. The Pirate lord had almost died right then. But that was not the plan. The plan called for something else entirely at this point. And so Morgarath did not smite the puny man down and instead continued to listen as the Meyul finished speaking of the preparations.

His oddly echoing voice sounded in approving tones. "I congratulate you on surpassing the more basic estimations for what you would get done." But that was he said and then fell silent again. It was as if he was waiting for something and around him his followers sat nearly motionless as well, aside from the phantom breeze blowing through the portal behind Morgarath.

Finally someone did speak but it hadn't been a member of Morgarath's retinue. It had been one of the pirate lords. Morgarath's face turned towards Lord Neess, the one who had spoken. Oddly enough the Dark Lord smiled in a remarkably friendly and sympathetic way. He chuckled and then spoke himself in that odd echoing voice once more.

"Oh, yes, my apologies 'Lord' Neess" Morgarath seemed to put a subtle stress on the word. "It seems I have neglected to tell you the reason I summoned you and your fellow pirate lord here." He laughed and then continued. "Your people will have a great role to play in what is to come. You the scourges of the oceans will be the rulers of them." As morgarath spoke one of his hands twitched slightly in a subtle signal that the Lady of the Tyrnir would have been told of before. It was time for the pirate lords to die. Morgarath however continued speaking, if the pirates payed attention to his words like any other being would they would have almost no warning of their impending death. The others around the table also would know what it meant.

"You see, however despite your people's many abilities you lack a certain quality that is conducive towards properly working in the plan." Morgarath raised his hands in a pacificating sort of gesture. "Do not worry, the affliction that infects your people is easily cured. Much like a cancer. All one must do is cut away the infected tissue and often the problem goes away." Another of those strange laughs and Morgarath's expression turned sympathetic for moment. "My apologies."

As Morgarath finished his last statement ideally the Tyrnir would be in position and cut the two pirate lords down in less than a second after he had fallen silent. Morgarath was confident such was going to occur.

A finger twitched as the Pirate Lord entered, dark crimson narrowing on the man as he took his seat. The guards did not depart, instead sliding the doors shut, and standing in front of them, a steadfast wall, no doubt to prevent further intrusions. There was no response to Morgarath’s praise, the massive Tynir’s focus now on centered on the pirates. A chilling smile rested upon her lips, as the tension in the room slowly began to build.

The Dark One began to speak, addressing the two with a calm voice, even as he motioned for them to be executed. Her olive hand slipped off the side of her throne, coiling silently around the handle of the massive broadsword that rested beside it. Blackened steel gleamed softly, snarling edges eying the throats of it’s soon-to-be victims hungrily. The beast had not been fed for far too long. Tattered strands of once vibrant violet clothe fluttered softly in the unnatural wind that filled the chamber, tied to the handle as some primitive decoration.

As Morgarath’s voice hung still in the air, the world seemed to stop for but one brief moment, before the Lady’s smile erupted into a predatory grin, and her body erupted from the throne in a blur of motion. The broadsword swung wide, it’s side crashing against the chest of Mosonn, throwing the man against the wall of the room, before falling roughly to the stone floor. She wasted not a moment, a powerful foot crashing against the already shattered ribs in the pirates chest, causing him to emit a low groan, mind racing to catch up with his damaged frame.

The crimson shone with hunger, as the Tynir slowly examined Neess. “Did you honestly expect anything different, human? Why would I bring you all the way here to speak of a simple deal, which could be shown so easily in your writing?” Her laughter echoed loudly around the room, excitement and battle lust dripping from the powerful sound. “Pathetic. How could you guide anything? You’re a fool.”

Another groan beneath her drew the hungering woman’s gaze down to her pinned victim, although her smile slipped into a tight line, as she regarded Mosonn. “You, however…you’re supposed to be paranoid. Cautious. Meticulous. Watchful…and yet here you are, Lord Mosonn.”

Terror gripped the man, and his lips quickly betrayed him. “I’m a fake! I’m not Mosonn! A double! H-he was worried something like this would happen, so he sent me instead!” A low growl slipped between her lips, ears slicking back as the thoughtful gaze hardened into wrath. “He never leaves his fortress! Ever! Oh gods, don’t kill me, I beg you! I’ll get you inside! I’ll do whatever you want! Just don’t kill me!”

Meyul was still for a moment, before the edges of her lips tugged slowly up, baring her fangs at the pinned impostor. Something flickered behind her burning eyes, and her frame relaxed ever so slightly. Raising her foot from his chest, the Lady locked eyes with Neess for a moment, before she brought it crashing back down onto his skull. There was no time to react, not to even scream.

The crack was soft, barely noticeable amidst the great black storm raging just outside the walls of Kamon Belkar. An unfitting way for a man to leave the world, without so much as a noise to mark his passage. The blood, already beginning to clot, clung to her foot, with small flecks of gray caught between toes and under nails if one were to look at the gore smeared limb.

“Your men call you The Cat, correct?” Her hand idly spun the broadsword about, small sparks leaping as the blade licked the stone, a metallic snarl from the impatient beast. Lifting it in before her, an olive hand slowly caressed down the monstrous weapon, a thin line of blood trailing in it’s path. “Survived enough poison to kill thirty men, and a rapier through your chest, only to kill your foes with the very blade they sought to destroy you with, if I recall the tale correctly…” Chilling pleasure flashed across her face, as the blade slowly retreated to her side. “Impressive.”

A slow elegant step brought her closer, although the approach was far from inviting, more akin to that of a animal stalking it’s prey. “I wonder…will you live up to those claims? Will you pull my blade from your chest, and cut us all down?” Every muscle tightened beneath her olive skin, poised and ready to strike at a moment’s notice. “Well…we’ll just have to find that out, won’t we?”

Darkness wrapped Lairelossë tightly, smooth as a second skin. Not just around her- the liquid shadows chill moved through her as well, coating her inside and out with fetid gloom. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t see. There was nothing. No sensation of movement, though she knew she was being transported through the shadows. The moment of capture seemed to last to infinity, suspended in a perpetual void of nothing. She tried to cry out, but there was no air to yell with.

Finally, vision bloomed once again. Lairelossë let out a small gasp as the sudden loss of the shadows cold left her shivering on the cold floor of the spire. The sudden change in elevation from the mountains left her breathless for a moment, but she quickly adjusted, and took her place carefully among the dark one’s retinue. Something felt different than it had before the journey. Something had been left behind… or added. It wasn’t a clear feeling.

In the Now, Lairelossë let out a small gasp as Meyul broke the imposter’s skull beneath her heel. A small spatter of blood caught the breast of Lairelossë’s robe. There was no reaction from the Moriquendë. She was minutes in the past.

The dark one introduced her as the sister of the hand of Morgarath. Once again, her brother was the reason for her involvement. She wasn’t here on her own merit, but rather because of Fionu. Or perhaps despite Fionu. With no real role, she resolved to stay silent and still as the lord and ladies of the dark court held congress. She suspected that somehow it wouldn’t be particularly difficult.

Later, child, whispered the old voice. A little later. There is some time left to travel. The others raged at its insistence, but the old voice was the only one she trusted. It had guided her often, and never tried to get her to do anything. It simply seemed to be there when she needed it. Not for the first time, she wondered what it truly was. It had only appeared after she had met the dark one, yet it seemed unconnected to him. It reminded her of her mother, the Amil Ráca. It was comforting.

With effort, Lairelossë tore her consciousness from the river that separated time, and forced it to the Now. The Lady pointed her broadsword directly at Neess, baring her teeth in a gesture more resembling a death rictus than a smile. She took a step forward from the torn body of Mosonn’s double, leaving it like so much disposed garbage. Lairelossë let out a small squeak as the blood pooling from the fresh corpse began running towards her.

The fire inside of her flared suddenly at the sight of blood. Looks like fun. Join in. Set it alight. She beat the spirit back quickly, but was unable to entirely contain her fascination with the spilled gore. Even as Neess prepared to clash with Meyul, the flames grew, licking her emotions with their impatient heat. As the Lady licked blood from her sword, the fire smoldered once again. Girl, you want blood as much as I. Let yours be the hand that sheds it. Let me free, let me join the slaughter.

She could feel the old voice’s displeasure with the flames palpably. Leave her, the old voice echoed in her head, and something else as well, a twisting. The flames responded to whatever the old voice had done, howling in agony. Blessedly, it retreated to the back of her mind. There, said the old voice. Do not be frightened. Lairelossë could still feel the fire lurking behind her consciousness, nursing the embers of its rage silently. It wasn’t finished with her… just biding its time.

Why wouldn’t the corpse stop leaking?

The blood continued to flow across the floor slowly, a sticky opaque river. It crept towards her. She knew that if she brought attention to herself, here, with these people, something horrible might happen. She did not want their attention. She would not move. Ponderously, the stream of blood crept towards her sandals. The surface seemed strangely reflective, the dull crimson somehow returning her own blood-marked gaze to her.

Fionu’s voice broke her reverie as he called her further up the pass. Her brother was so impatient! This stream was perfect, and sort of strange, and she’d found it, and now she wanted to look at it. Fionu could just wait a moment.

The water of the mountain stream was strangely milky, almost opaque. The stream was perhaps a foot wide, and not very deep, more a rivulet than a true waterway. It ran down the pass from rock to rock, a surprising vision of beauty in the Mountains of the Night. Bravely, Lairelossë stuck her finger into the stream, and was shocked by how cold it was. Bringing the finger to her mouth, she found that it tasted like water.

Fionu rolled his eyes from the embankment above. “It’s just glacial melt, dummy. It gets sand and sediment in it from the glaciers higher up in the mountains. Silt. Now come on. We need to find shelter before dark. I don’t trust this pass at all. It’s too exposed.”

Lairelossë looked at her brother for a long moment, and he rolled his eyes again and continued climbing. As he left, she stuck out her tongue at him and took off her shoes. Stupid brother couldn’t find serenity if he carried around a pot full of it. Carefully, she took off her climbing boots and sat on the rocks of the streambed. The cool maintain air felt wonderful against the soles of her tired feet, and she impulsively plunged her feet into the glacial stream. The shock of the cold almost hurt at first, but then began to feel wonderful running over her toes. She smiled at the natural beauty of the mountains, even if there were horrible creatures around that seemed to always want to eat them.

In the Now, Lairelossë dipped her finger into the blood as it finally reached her, licking it after a moment of careful study. She took off her sandals and sat in the pool of spreading crimson, red soaking into the hem of her robe. An innocent smile grew on her face as two creatures of the dark prepared their deadly dance.

Child, whispered the old voice, I envy you your ignorance.

It wasn’t hard to read between the lines. While the picture wasn’t clear it was certainly painted, and Hon’ar’s gut was screaming something wasn’t right – from the two Tynir warriors who now stood guard at the exit to the look on their Lady’s face. Something’s not right. It was much like the calm before the storm. There was stillness in the room as Morgarath spoke that made it seem more like waiting. For what, he feared as he shifted his weight ever so slightly, readying to draw his swords if he need to.

"My apologies." The words resonated in Lord Neess’ ears, and his eyes instantly flickered to the Dark Lady. She suddenly sprung from her throne, weapon in hand, and ascended upon the unsuspecting Lord Mosonn. It was a moment where everything appeared to come to a standstill, where everything was slow motion, yet was occurring so fast that one could do little more than watch it happen. Her enormous sword swung around like a club, knocking the helpless pirate to the ground where she pinned him beneath her massive foot.

“Did you honestly expect anything different, human? Why would I bring you all the way here to speak of a simple deal, which could be shown so easily in your writing?”

Hon’ar paid little mind to what she said. His thoughts were elsewhere, on his son’s last words to him. They echoed throughout his mind, taunting him that he was wrong for coming. That he was a fool.

The imposter’s pleas were swiftly silenced. His life leaving barely noticed, with nothing more than a faint crunch as his head was brutally stomped in. The touch of death filled the room, and it was a feeling the pirate Lord was all too familiar with. He set there frozen by his own stupidity, staring angrily at the Tynir. At his fate.

“Your men call you The Cat, correct…

I wonder…will you live up to those claims? Will you pull my blade from your chest, and cut us all down?

Well…we’ll just have to find that out, won’t we?”

It didn’t take a wise sage to realize he was out matched, outnumbered, and likely facing his last moments on Emoria. He had already been made a fool; he refused to be made a coward. With that in mind he pushed from the table with a pirate snarl, drawing both his large cutlass and his small sword.

“Here it is,” he pounded his chest with his fist. “Come and see!”

Her smile split her face; eyes alight with a lifeless hunger. She advanced slowly, as Neess rose from his seat, drawing his weapons. The old human intended to fight, pounding a fist against his chest as he spoke his defiance. He intended to die with pride! A warrior deserved a warrior’s death, and she would be more than happy to provide it. A primal growl escaped her, as she spun her blade effortlessly, the metal screeching before she closed the distance between them with a swift lunge.

The pirate sidestepped the strike, and leapt in to strike at her unprotected side, only to have his steel clash against her blade, the towering figure watching him with wild eyes. “Fast for an old human, but you’ll find me to be faster.” The lock held for a moment longer, before the Tynir showed a fraction of her strength, ending the lock with a push. There was a split second of silence, before her sword swung in a loud arc; slicing the air and forcing the pirate back a step, the blade dancing centimetres from his chest.

He lashed at her, blade biting against the thick skin of her arm to no avail, the edge not drawing blood. The attack was short lived, as Meyul’s fist smashed against his arm, forcing the pirate to retreat as she lashed out with another strike aimed for his face. Her hand clashed against his steel, but the pirate couldn’t foresee her next move. Her fist uncoiled, hand wrapping around the sabre and ripping it from his grasp. Thin lines of dark red ran down her palm, as the Tynir’s leg snapped up and delivered a mighty kick to his chest.

The Lady advanced quickly, discarding the weapon as she approached. To the human’s credit, he recovered from the blow surprisingly quick. He lunged at her, the remaining blade grazing against her exposed shoulder, as she sidestepped the brunt of the attack. His momentum carried him past her, but she was ready. Her blade screeched as it spun in her grasp, before she drove it upwards behind her. A sharp cry of pain and the sound of tearing flesh reached her ears, and her smile took on a primal edge.

“The Cat.” Her laughter chilled the air, as she glanced over her shoulder at the human. The massive blade drove itself in through his back, before bursting through the front of his chest, gore and crimson smearing it’s blackened steel. “Is that truly all it takes? Pathetic.” A flick of her wrist sent the pirate lord skidding across the floor; Meyul’s eyes watching it for a moment before she glanced back at Morgarath. Her smile arrogant, she approached the table once more.

A low groan from the body of Neess caused her to take pause, and Meyul turned her head to watch the human as he slowly began to push himself from the stone with weakened arms. She watched for a moment longer, before two sweeping strides brought her to the human. The steel drove through the soft skin of his neck, severing his head from his body, the pirate lord collapsing back to the floor as the head stared blankly at the ceiling above.

“Go ensure the crews don‘t make it back.” The Lady turned, resting her blade on her shoulder casually as she spoke to her guards, who quickly saluted and left the room to see her will done. “Now that that’s taken care of…shall we continue?”

As the pirate scum’s head was hewn from his body, the Lord of the Dark seemed to suck air from the room. The torches in the tower seemed to dim, shadows lengthening obscenely. Morgarath sucked in the delicious fear and pain, filling the room with the screaming of the man’s soul as it was consumed. Everyone present felt a pull at the edges of their minds, as a silent wail that seemed at once impossible and all too real tore at their consciousness. Several guests clapped hands to their ears in an effort to drown out the noise, but it seemed not to help them in the slightest. Only the Tynir seemed unaffected.

As suddenly as the psychic assault had begun, it was over. Guests glanced about in an effort to conceal their obvious discomfort, and the small figure smothered in its robes suddenly seemed to tower over all of them. It drew itself upright and pushed back its hood, the eyes inside glowing a sickly yellow. There was nothing about the face that stood out, yet somehow it held a deep sense of wrongness, of something buried for years and best left undisturbed.

“Very good, Meyul. That one was… Exquisite. I am afraid he did not want to go so soon. Such will in him.” The subtle mockery flew from the lips of Morgarath with the weight of steel, every word filling the room with an almost palpable sense of evil and desolation. The very air seemed to twist around the words, echoing them subtly. The lord seemed to lick his lips, as if savoring the memory of a particularly good meal.

“Ka’urderen. You will be our vanguard. Bring the fight to our friends in Sretin, and strike the first blow in our campaign.” The Dark One’s voice left no room for interruption or argument. “You will tear the peace-lovers apart, and divert our enemies attention so that we more freely strike to the north.”

Morgarath’s gaze swept back over the rest of his assembled minions. Cowards, the lot of them. He had given up hope of finding useful subjects within the darkness long ago. That was why corrupting those of the light was so much more appealing to him. They always had so much drive and passion, and they could always be manipulated. Who among these assembled would dare to defy him? Not a one. Except…

Meyul was worrying. She thought too freely, and would not submit to his rule. She seemed to somehow think they were equals, as if he had not been chosen by the Old Gods for his mission, his task. He WOULD see her kneel. A smirk quirked at the corner of his mouth.

“Lairelosse, come to me.” The young Moriquende started suddenly, her eyes growing wide as she realized what she had been doing. Shivering, she slowly made her way to the dark lord, the hems of her robe making wet trails against the cold stones of the tower. Morgarath held out his hand , and she took it hesitantly.

Turning to the assembled audience, the Dark Lord spoke again briefly, the room rippling with the power of his commands. “The rest of you know your parts to play. Go now, and carry them out.” His words brought a scurry of activity from those preparing to do his bidding. The Tynir seemed unimpressed. “Meyul. I wish for you to watch over this young one for me. She needs time to grow to her full potential, and I am sure she will bloom under your eye. I must oversee the spawning of my gaunts for the northward offensive, so I leave her care to you.”

Manipulation came easy to the dark lord. Not everything required a show of force, or magic. Some things could be solved with just a few words. Meyul would be convinced that Lairelosse would be a spy set to watch her and report back, and the quende was too spineless to try anything without her brother. Additionally, he would be able to hang the location of his sister over the hand’s head. Another thread to bind the fallen elf with. The smirk became a smile, then a chuckle.

“If that is all? Avarinne, with me. I shall return in time to see how you have progressed with my charge, Ukaharu.” The drop of Meyul’s old name was intentional, a stab at the Tynir’s lady. She was, after all, his creation, and she would learn her place in time.

The Lady stayed standing, crimson eyes watching Morgarath feed on the soul of her kill. The brief battle left her craving for more, the hunger for combat gnawing at the back of her mind with an unrelenting fervour. A slow, deep breath rolled from her nostrils as Meyul fought the craving within, waiting for the Dark One to hurry up and finish so she might find a distraction.

His approval flowed meaninglessly through her mind, hollow words meant for dogs and slaves, she needed it not. He spoke to the others, as the towering Tynir slowly returned to her throne, idly stroking the immense blade in her hand with a single, elegant finger.

For a moment, she felt the burning gaze of the Shadow Lord upon her, and the Lady raised her eyes to lock his gaze without hesitation. What was he thinking? A smirk tugged his lips up, and hers folded instinctively into a frown as he dismissed the others whilst keeping the dark skinned elf by his side. They were wretches, and spineless. How easily they rushed to fulfill his bidding…pathetic urchins. Disinterest crept up her features, but she refrained from voicing her displeasure, hoping her ally had a good reason for dragging this out.

“Meyul. I wish for you to watch over this young one for me. She needs time to grow to her full potential, and I am sure she will bloom under your eye. I must oversee the spawning of my gaunts for the northward offensive, so I leave her care to you.” She snarled low in her throat, catching the amusement in his voice. She was not some male he could simply order to watch his pathetic young! Black flecks dotted her gaze, and the handle of her blade threatened to snap in the vice grip of her grasp. Before she could protest being saddled with this…this burden, he spoke again, cutting off any attempt to escape his task. “If that is all? Avarinne, with me. I shall return in time to see how you have progressed with my charge, Ukaharu.”

The world stilled, her furious gaze locking with his blazing yellow for a moment that stretched on into infinity, and the room seemed to crush inwards as the wills of the two titans clashed in a brief moment of fury. No one spoke that name. Only her father. He had no RIGHT to speak her name.

This could not go unanswered.

The low growl rumbled in the darkened room, but the dangerously wide smile that split her face spoke volumes of her own intentions. “I shall watch her.” The voice dripped of poisoned honey, a tone Meyul herself was surprised she could even make, as her eyes flicked to the female at the Shadow Lord’s side. “But…you best watch her, Morgarath. It would be a tragedy if something happened to your mate.” The stone of her throne cracked violently under her tightening grip, eyes alight with blackest intent.

Her eyes danced with delight, as the Shadow hesitated for the briefest moment in his step, before continuing through the portal into his own domain. A blow well dealt, if she was any judge. But that still left…

The moment it closed, she released a snarl the rivalled the thunder above and rose from her throne to address the elf suddenly abandoned in her care. Could this wretched thing even eat the food here? Her father had made mention of it sometime ago, but the lesson was blurred by time, and she swore in her native tongue before returning to common. “Morgarath said your name was…” She paused, working her tongue around the foreign name for a moment. “Lairelosse, correct? You are not an elven pup, so I’m going to assume you can some what fend for yourself…”

Her tongue clicked once, and a trio of Tynir emerged from the adjacent chambers that made up the Lady's home. They stood well below the towering presence of Meyul, and barely reached the chests of the guards that had guarded the council earlier. Deep swirling scars covered their faces and ears, the tips seeming to have been cut from each ear. They said not a word, watching their Lady in preparation for her requests.

“Nas’mik, see to the spare chamber. Dress it with whatever the elf needs, take from my own if we are lacking.” The addressed Tynir bowed low to his mistress, quickly departing to see to her request as she looked to the other two. “Tro’ga’te, prepare my bath, warm it well. See to my food afterwards…and the elf’s food as well. Something easy.” As the other servant moved quietly to the other room to prepare Meyul’s bath, she sighed and turned back to Lairelosse, gesturing slowly to the remaining scarred Tynir.

“This is Kyne. She is one of my personal servants, and I am entrusting her to you for your stay. She will accompany you throughout the tower, although I insist you stay to the upper floors. If you leave them…I cannot promise you will remain unharmed. If you need anything, tell Kyne, and she shall do her best to provide. She understands Common.” Glancing back at the Tynir, she motioned once with her hand, and the servant quietly crossed over and took her place by the elf’s side.

Swallowing down the rage in her gut, Ukaharu gave the elf a brief once over with a critical eye. She was weak, but what could one expect from the other races? The bath was sounding better and better right now, the events of the council gnawing at her mind. Father will need to hear of this. It would be months before he was back though, which meant she would simply have to deal and plan with what she had been dealt. “Well, Lairelosse, is there anything you wish to say, or request? Or am I free to go enjoy a well earned bath?” She hid her annoyance poorly, but at this point, the warm waters were calling her, and she didn’t want to waste anymore time not enjoying them.

Lairelosse’s name brought her back from the ash-filled pass. As her shoes were once again firm upon the blood-slicked stone of the tower, she found herself staring at the man- no, the THING- that had caused her so much pain. If she was to open herself, allow her spirits to fly, could she stop his unraveling of the world?

But of course, that wasn’t how this went. This was nothing new. Lairelosse had lived through this point more than once, and she knew how this went. He said-

“Lairelosse, come to me.” Like she was a pet. Like was a thing, a belonging. Her stomach lurched at the injustice of the lord of shadow, and bile burned deep in her throat, but she obeyed. Obeyed, because she was what the monster had made her. Obeyed, because she was the slave of fate. Obeyed, because she was a monster too.

“Meyul. I wish for you to watch over this young one for me. She needs time to grow to her full potential, and I am sure she will bloom under your eye. I must oversee the spawning of my gaunts for the northward offensive, so I leave her care to you.”

And Lairelosse’s world ended.

Everything she had felt, all of her rage and shame at being the puppet of her own fate. She had known the future, known that the world would be unraveled in her lifetime. She had loathed herself for acting out the same scenes over and over again, not being able to fight the inexorable pull of her destiny. Suddenly, all of that was gone.

Morgarath had shattered her future, and he didn’t even realize it had been done. Wide-eyed, she stared at him, then at Meyul. The monster, the lord of the dark had scooped everything out of her, making her hollow. A single blow would shatter her into a million pieces.

The Dark Lord and the Lady squared off, each scoring points against the other, but it seemed to be happening in the background for the young Quende. Something was growing within her, slowly blossoming, butterflies on gossamer wings. It wasn’t strong, but it was there.

She thought it might be hope.

Morgarath vanished with his bride, and Meyul, the lady of the tower, turned slowly to the young Moriquende. The look she received might have been reserved for pond scum, or a particularly slimy amphibian. She gestured to the other Tynir left in the room, sighing lightly.

“This is Kyne. She is one of my personal servants, and entrusting you to her for your stay.”

There was more, but Lairelosse hardly registered it. She didn’t know what to say.

She didn’t know what to say!

After a pause, Meyul sighed again. “Well, Lairelosse, is there anything you wish to say, or request? Or am I free to enjoy a well-earned bath?”

Still dazed, Lairelosse managed a slight curtsy. “Of course not. I certainly would not wish to delay you.” The massive Tynir snorted and lifted herself from her throne, presumably to take the aforementioned bath. Lairelosse had never before been dismissed so curtly, but she was in no mood to worry about it as Kyne took her hand and led her from the audience chamber.

As the attendant ushered her down the cold stone hallways to what the channeler assumed were her chambers, the quiet voice in her head spoke softly. The torches seemed to flicker slightly in their sconces as it hissed.

So, they’re finally done with their posturing. All that talking for nothing. It’s finally over.

No, thought the young Quende in response. Something… something is just beginning.