Council meetings were usually as dull as tarnished cutlery. This particular meeting was an entire draw full of dreary. The High Bailiff of Serpentis was droning on about the decline in dedications of the flesh and trying to press upon the necromantic order the importance of an alliance between the two differing orders. Even though there was already an agreement between the factions, apparently that wasn’t good enough and the High Bailiff wanted more. Abraxas wanted nothing more than to melt the man’s flesh from his bones and render him a useful skeleton to relieve his ears from the monotone droning.
One of his fellow councilmen stood and coughed, interrupting the High Bailiff’s tirade. The Bailiff, getting the hint turned from the lectern with a scoff and made his way between the aisles to take his seat.
The auditorium was made out of the dark stone that covered the Vyglisini Dominion. Torches in sconces around the hall made the place feel oppressively warm and did little to dispel the darkness. The stone leeched the light before it had a chance to leave its clutches. There were very few members of the councils settled within the room, many of them attending to business elsewhere; deeming this gathering unimportant. Their arrogance irked the Necromancer, what could be more important than the future of the Dominion? He lent forwards slightly to see who the next speaker was and roll his eyes in distaste. If he thought the High Bailiff was a droll dullard, he had nothing compared to the next speaker.
He lent back in his chair and folded his arms, tucking his hands into his long, broad sleeves. His dark eyes closed and the hood fell back from his head. Already the man was boring him and he struggled to keep himself awake.
A faint buzzing sounded in his ear and he waved his hand to waft off the preying insect. A whip of wind whisked past his hair, dragging a coil of greasy tresses with it. He flicked his hand again, irritated by the distraction. Only when the breeze buzzed again did he pay it any heed. As he turned his head, on the wind he saw the grey scrub of ashes. His eyes narrowed and a hand lashed out to encase the dry remains. When his fingers slowly coiled open, darkness stained his palm and his eyes widened. A coded message lay in the ashes that only a few men could successfully interpret. The portent that this set of ashes presented, was particularly grim.
Abraxas stood from his seat, robes billowing behind him, as he rushed down the central aisle and shouted, “They’re here!” A sullen silence filled the theatre and several heads turned in his direction. Abraxas wasn’t known for his irrational outbursts; unlike some of the members of his order.
A couple of whispers erupted throughout the room, trying to suss out what the necromancer was raving about. It was no secret that the Vyglisini Dominion was at war with Miracien; their very way of life was threatened by the self-righteous Church of Light. They were intent on bringing their ways down on the necks of the Dominion, cutting off everything that made the Dominion what it is. What right did any nation have to quash another, just because they didn’t approve?
Luckily, the Vyglisini Dominion was ready to resist any such hostile takeover and push back, trying to refrain their ways of life. They’d fight the Miracieni Armies with everything they had. And with the amount of dead in the woodlands, scrubland and grasses that made up the Dominion, there would be armies enough of their own.
Abraxas held out his palm to an older man who was settled on his own seat. The older man’s mouth hardened into a grim line as he pressed down on a walking cane to help him stand. He coughed once more and raised a hand to the gathering, “Meeting is adjourned.” He stated and indicated that Abraxas follow him out of the large room. The necromancer followed his former master out of the room; where they’d discuss the message they’d been sent and deliberate on what could be done to prepare for the imminent arrival of the Miracieni army.
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