Conquest Of The Fallen: Dark Dominions

THE RULING COUNCIL OF THE EMPIRE convened in a conclave three times before the rise of the full moon—thrice every month. The faerie calendar abided by twelve moons in a Season, and since the days of the Elyrian march and the very first of the [Skyling] nobles, the people of Eldoria stuck to the clock, astrology and books of their elven pioneers.

The conclave met to discuss matters of the vast nations of the kingdom. Matters of state. With the putsch of the Morningstar flags, and the crowning of the legacy Queen, certainly, the society of Titans Landing had much to clave about.

The Council members hobbled together in rotund cavernous chambers, stoled away in old stairwells of the castle, like hobbits amid corn fields. The ancient stone of these places, called [Black Rooms], ensured that the walls didn't have ears. Even if a wench or maiden working at the palace were to lean in for a listen, all the spy would have an earful of was echoing of scattered voices the old, graying rocks.

Black Rooms had being disbanded from the days of Baeleon the Bold, grandfather of Giselle—whom now ruled as Governess of Eragonn and it's many acrid dungeons. In those days, House Imperia was very powerful in the land and didn't need the use of clandestine stoneholds to reign and ensure the prosperity of the Nine Realms. But since the fall of the Sunling queen, the House of Imperia had long lost its position of affluence in the Capital.

It was friendship with the other Houses that still guaranteed it a spot in the conference of Nobility.

"We will not be quick to forget our regent subdued to a bitch—for an even bigger bitch." One citizen had distressfully commented.

Giselle was not beloved of the kingdom of her face ancestors anymore. It was her past acquaintance with the hero of the Rebellion that'd kept her from the prisons she wardened herself; Israfel went a long measure with the Council to stablish her as Wardress. And not inmate. "Thank the gods we've got Damnameneus as Lord of the Council, else, poor, love-lorn Giselle would be another famous somebody forgotten in the dungeons." Rafel had cited to Corazón and his girls.

To this right, having friends in high places was as paramount to the survival of all Great Houses as a home in Frostholm having mittens and a hearth.

"Black Rooms didn't need to exist in the days of the mighty king, Baeleon because he had a colony of sorcerers and their apprentices in his court at hearings. The truth finding abilities of [Candor] Mages forbade anyone from lying in the presence of a monarch; an excellent deterrent for treachery across the realms he ruled.

Baeleon the Bold did shame his queen with the multitude of his whoredoms, but he kept the Fae throne, civility and trades of the Empire, and not once was his military challenged." It was the High Magus and [Old-world] historian, Damnameneus saying this—in one of these secretive Black Rooms. He spoke to a Council of Nine and One.

Nine representing Councilmen and Councilwomen, and he as the one Lord.

The bunch were huddled in the stone bosom of a chamber made entirely of rock and climbing moss. One would think the great ruling parliament of the Empire would host their conclaves in better suited places—as the Church often liked to do. They did have the money. But not the Council under the High Magus. Damnameneus meant to establish a dynasty of House de Vríes that would not be toppled in a thousand years.

Who wanted a repeat of the House Imperia?

Ecclesiastical or grand quarters was the least thing on the druid's mind.

He sat at the head of a circle of longtables, like one might find at a mead hall, and led the Council on with his words.

"The House of the Griffin had fallen, my brethren. This sorry affair is beyond repair. There is not sugar coating it. But thanks to the courage, and much sacrifice of the Rebellion forces, we now have a new, good Queen on the throne.

"A young queen of the House of the Raven.

"—whom we must protect at all costs. There are many who wish to take her life for the sins of her father. THIS COUNCIL must waylay the assassins, the betrayers, the scum of the land. Those that would the peace and borders of our Empire. I believe Her Majesty, Ravenna de Vríes is the one to usher in a thousand years of a noble golden age.

"And we shall help her achieve this.

"King Baeleon didn't need the [Black Rooms]. But he didn't have a country of diverse arcane factions, and the new addition: [Mechas] – all recovering from a civil war to contend with either. In our days, Black Rooms are not a choice. Charlatans must not have chance to breach our realms, neither Titans our walls.

"As one of the few Immortals left from the Age of the Ancients, Queen Ravenna is the best chance our Continent has. I have lived countless centuries, and have seen none with a purer soul. . ."

"Hard to conceive, as her daddy was a devil." A fine, cultured voice joined in from the levels beyond the hallowed seat of Damnameneus. The aristocratic syllables belonged to a Nobleman, a Viscount of a commendable portion. His name was Sir Granitt Snr. of the House Penderghast. A distant relative of the Countess, Cordelia Penderghast.

Like the others lost to the sorrows of war, Lady Delia and her entire home had been among the martyrs of the revolution. Her daughter, Brunhilda, Rafel's close friend.

Jhana Springfield, a biracial Lady of Gentle birth, but married to a General of Fort Sandringham, cut salty sweet eyes at the Baron. She said, "I might remind you, Granitt, that our Rebellion hero is a devil. Is he a felon too?" Her lips curled down: an open dare for Sir Granitt Snr. to spite the most loved man in the entire fucking Continent.

The flaxen-haired Baron started:

"Lord Blüd—"

"This Council will hold no bias!" Damnamenaeus put up his gavel and banged it hard. "You all," the sorcerer pointed, "are from distant parts of the realms. You all hold cultures and reasoning native to your birthplace. But in here... in here, I'll advise you to drop all misgivings you might have for other nations, or factions. We are one Empire. Under one banner of silver, ebony, and gold. This is the need for the Black Room. If as high standing citizens, we cannot find common ground to work together, then what hope lies for the masses?

Now more than ever, that we have [cosmo-abled] people living here with us in the city."

"He means cut out the racist shit, Granitt!" A Lady from the Rhobine coasts ventured. She was fat, and her accent touched. A second councilwoman.

Sir Granitt Snr. scoffed at her.

He definitely had a lot to say about her skin and love handles. One look at Damnameneus' cold, brass eyes, and the Baron held his tongue.

Secretly, he whispered, "this is why those of lowly birth—and uggos have always being prevented from royal halls. If everyone was just allowed up in here, what would be noble about it." A mind like Baron Granitt's was just a tabula rasa waiting to be cultivated by the real enemies to the throne. And reign of the House of the Raven. "If this were a meeting at Otto's club, no big-boned wench would dare intract on me talking." Granitt still kept with his ill wrath.

Alas, a Councilwoman was no wench—plus size or not. Damnamenaeus damn will made sure that all in the Council earned their spot. So even though the Baron hated to rub minds with a woman, he could not nothing about it—but grunt. Lady Jhana and the other councilwoman were just as powerful in the city as he.

Damnameneus continued after the rap of his gavel, "shall we move to better conversation now? Jhana, your husband is yet at his post? How fares Fort Sandringham these days? After the bitter losses we endured at the War of Three Cities, we need as many enlistments into our forces as we can."

"Yes, and yes." Jhana Springfield responded. "But as for your third question, High Magus, I'm afraid you'd need a lengthy answer: the Fort is brick and gold, as impossible as it has been since inception. You can see the cadet lines from the castle towers each morning. Juliard hasn't come home since the even of the last moon. Even if he manages with the new intakes, the long list of grieving families he has to apologize to is guaranteed to keep him a week at the latest."

"Oh, the Lady doth protest!" Granitt made a comic face. "She takes the affairs of her loving bed as prerogative to the state of the nation."

Jhana was about to cut back on the arrogant lord of House Penderghast when Damnameneus did right by her. He studied the Baron with translucent, moon eyes. Eyes only present in the faces of those [Touched Ones] that had lived five hundred years and more. Eyes like to the Autumn Angel. "If you'd rather wish to continue in this conclave as a potato, then I can make it so, Sir Granitt."

Damnameneus told him coldly. He only afforded Granitt's fallen face a second of his time before shifting his silver gaze back to the rest of the clave.

"I'm glad the conscription is coming along nicely. The realms will fare better with our military ranks swell."

"We have allies of Corynthia," a third councilman added. "The Freelands adopt Rocasus methods to send in emissaries that will hang permanently in the Capital. Her Majesty allows them homes in the Lords District. They will take the oath to her crown later at nightfall to the throne."

"The occasion of the Elder Statesmen? It is tonight, huh?" Granitt Snr. found his voice once more.

A buff, dark Councilman scoffed at Jhana's side.

"How does a member of this conclave not know this?"

Jhana sweetly out out. "Sir Granitt does not bother with our memos... that is if he can read at all."

"Ha Ha." The Baron coughed dryly.

"The Legata promises to be there for the occasion. As well as our Rebellion hero." Damnamenaeus said. This raised the heads of everyone in the Black Room. As close comrade of the revered demon lord, Israfel, Damnameneus was highly trusted in this matters. "I must remember to put on my best veils then," the third and final councilwoman said proudly and promiscuously, "I hear our Messiah is yet unwed. And quite the looker."

Others in the Council ignored this particular brunette. Damnameneus banged his gavel to halt the rumors that did arise.

"Can she be less of a whore?"

"Can she be less open about it?"

"Can she be a Lady?"

Lady Margaretta Scazazzi only smiled at the lot of them. She didn't give a fuck; she was the richest of the bunch.

Sweetly again, the wealthiest woman in the Capital city toned in the Black Room. "It's three hours till dusk. I motion for adjournment. My maidens need a full hour tops for my hair alone."

"Seconded." Jhana called. "The Elder Statesmen event might finally bring me and Julliard in the same room."

Hands rose in the clandestine stone room. And the Lord of the Council banged his gavel.