A few more people entered...
Lord Malcolm of Nantenland entered, wearing red and white, trimmed with gold stepped through the door, greeting people as he made his way in. He had the air of a king- himself. His protectors stood aside while he and his dignitaries moved to the table.
The Sultan Lord of Ishtan waddled to the table, as well as his cohort: Ehab- one of the scribes, as well as a few others. The young Kubanese emperor and his queen entered, and their fearsome warrior cohort stood aside.
King Laewyn shifted in his seat and gave a cough. Covering his mouth with a handkerchief, shaking lightly due to the stress it has put on his body, he cleared his throat. This was a sign that the summit was likely about to begin, as now everyone was in attendance. Everyone made their way to their seats if they were standing about chatting idly. It again began to dawn on them. This was the first time that all the countries have met at once in near Eighty years. Desmun of Nemor had eyed the King and scooted his chair foreward, grasping out for a stem of grapes on the table.
The table was long, and specked with wooden plates and metallic platters of bread, pastries, fruits, and cheeses. There was milk, mead, and a multitude of juices in different pitchers available to the patrons on the table. Plenty of things to keep the emmisaries and the leaders of these large countries happy during what would likely be a long, long conference.
Blinking to the sharp noise of a last cough, he watched King Laewyn trying to prepare his lungs and his body for talking loudly enough for the entire table to hear. His face looked tired and pained. His body was weary now, as the chair slid back beneath him as he rose to his feet. This was not how he imagined his King. He had met him once before, but it still didn't seem like the same man as before. Desmun imagined a king- the way that Laewyn himself used to be. Some at the table would remember him in his younger days. House Grigori- now the royal house, has been on the throne for two generations. They fought in the hundred years' war and were finally able to bring the houses together in a summit of nations. They were generally well liked, but there was still rebellion, those resistant to change. There were still battles throughout King Laewyn's younger days. He was a proud warrior and even a hero in his youth. Fighting on the battlefield with the pride of a lion, and skill of a master. His actions as a youth gave him overwhelming support on the throne when his father was too old to rule. He was also known for being slightly lax for a ruler, especially as the years came to him. Some time in his sixties his health began declining slowly. Though now that the large storm has arrived- it seemed to be speeding his tragic decline.
The King sighed and sat up straight,
"Ladies and Gentlemen, you all know why it is that you are here." he said, his voice frail, but feigning strength. "Something is upon us that means to rid us of this land." he said, full conviction in his voice. It brought back the reality of the situation that was all but forgotten the night before. "We are losing ground at an overwhelming rate." He paused for a moment, leaning forward onto the table.
Attention was turned to the Ruvellian Cardinal sitting next to the King, as he seemed to pass forebodings:
"The storm brings a terrible omen with it.."
The blonde man from Midgard continued to reiterate their dire situation, speaking up,
"Our lands have been all but over-run. Most of the population of all Midgard has attempted to migrate from their homes to the Misty Mountain Hold, and the mountains. They have nowhere else to go."
The Head of the Kubana empire spoke up immediately after, "We are at complete loss. We are holding off swarms of these... these... abominations night by night! It is only matter of time before they begin gaining ground. We lost several of our port cities in the first night of their arrival!" His thick eyebrows furrowed, and his mouth pursed underneath his long, thin mustache.
Attention was brought to the other side of the table once again as the Head of Midgard continued, "And look at what happened to Galgaroth. Such unrest has reached the people's morale. People are dying, killing other people. Even the noble house has been touched."
This was making reference to the ruling family in Galgaroth being attacked- either directly or indirectly- and the house lord ending up dead.
They all looked over to the current house lord for their country. Desmun passed him a look of sympathy. Yes... the Galgaroth family was almost all killed in one night's fire. An assassination no doubt... The king shook his head and spoke loudly before anything else could be said,
"I will not have this become a shouting match." he glared around the table. He was trying to get the subject changed, in case the wound of Galgaroth was still fresh. "I was not finished..." He continued to go over the statistics of how much ground each country had lost. Ishtan and Fanethia had yet to be hit with much force, but Galgaroth, Fanethia, Midgard, and Kubana were all hit with full force, Nantenland and The Direwood were also hit but not nearly as hard as the others, on constant watch for the vicious and clever elves. Liseria was starting to see the hordes at their borders and staving off small waves. Midgard was relegated to their final cities and mountains in the northeastern Quarter. Kubana was pushed back to the walls of the Kyuuden empire, and small outcrops specked across the island.
it was made clear that no single country would be able to withstand a long campaign against the plague of monstrosities knocking at each country's gates. Maybe a few years' stalemate at best before being swept away slowly. The question was brought up then,
"Well, what do we do? We can't sit and wait to die!"
This was the question, spurred by the Kubanese empire that put almost everyone over the edge. Desmun's head fired left and right, as so many people began to pipe up.
"Galgaroth needs the help of Nemor and Ishtan!"
"Ishtan will not whore itself out and leave itself unguarded in case of attack!"
"Nemor can't give any assistance until we know her borders are secure."
then the Cardinal added again, his calm voice over top the chaos.
"The storm grows... It is only a matter of time... The gate of Abbadon will open, and the armies of Gehenna will pour forth, lead by Velius himself."
This caused a room's silence, and Desmun raised his eyebrows. That name- Nobody had heard the church use that name so openly in ages. In the Ruvellian religion, Velius was not a name to be passed around without the suspicion of severe misfortune or death coming to your door. A superstition that they were not to speak lightly of- this Velius. It was never forgotten who, or what Velius was, but everyone there, even the Ishtan sultan gave a blank, silent look. The King himself looked surprised that the Cardinal used the name.
"Cardinal Naemon-" the King plead, "You aren't serious..." he said, at first with disbelief and accusation, then giving a look with an air of sincerity and realization. The King had become a very religious man in the past fifteen or twenty years. His lips began moving before any sound came through, speaking as if he were reciting something- "From the unholy darkness..." and trailed off, muttering in the same tone, lips still moving inaudibly... Whatever he was thinking all of a sudden seemed to make sense to him. Glad he didn't share the same religious conviction, Desmun shook his head and his eyes narrowed. He then looked to see what the cardinal was doing. The Cardinal sat there, the same look on his face as he had when he sat down. Sincere, ready for business, holding a look of fatherly concern. Mouthing something of what appeared to be more Ruvelian scripture. For the first time, Desmun wished he payed more attention to his religious lessons.
The Sultan Lord spoke up, "You mean to tell me that your false gods are the reason for your demise?" he almost laughed. "Then maybe that is why none have touched the Ishtan borders." Chuckling, insinuating that they remain safe because they don't believe in whatever being they were speaking of.
"Then why have they stepped into our borders?" The midgardian accent cut through the conversation again-
The cardinal looked to the Sultan,
"Your most trusted Imams, and pujari had the same falling dream." he shook his head. "You know it's only a matter of time."
"And who is to say they weren't tainted by your Ruvellian donkeys?" he asked, "I had my pujari imprisoned as soon as I heard that he shared a falling dream with Ruvellian priests." he snorted. But, he was serious. He thought his pujari was lying to him. Then muttered in the Ishtan tongue under his breath, an insult to the Imam.
"It is a vision of Velius' coming. If you fail to recognize- in time you, too, will fall to the darkness." he said, a sadness in his tone. Before the Sultan had time to retort angrily, the King again Interjected. Though it wasn't with his words. He got caught in a violent coughing fit. His main lawmaker sitting beside him called for help of the servants, who came to his aide. Blood could be seen gathering in King Laewyn's grey beard. The Cardinal himself ran to the King's side.
Lawmaker Robben of the Royal Court called a brief break in the summit, so the Cardinal and the other servants could see King Laewyn back to his bed...
___________________________
The men from all the noble houses began talking amongst themselves, some getting up and talking in hushed tones.....
Rocas
The Midgardians stood in a small huddle.
"This is complete oxpiss." Rocas hissed in a venomous whisper, arms crossed and fidgeting his posture. He was the middle height one, son to Kjaran Vargen. He was certainly not the spitting image of his father. His father resembled the bear more than he did the wolf- the signet of the Vargen family. Kjaren was often jokingly called the 'were-bear' of the clan. Rocas was of average height of near six feet, but his muscle was natural. He was built for swift movement. He was an expert tracker and hunter, and he just sort of looked that way. He was rough around the edges, like he belonged in the snowy woods of the Misty Mountains. Stubbly beard, shaggy black hair. Jade green eyes hidden behind thick eyelashes. Everything seemed to be foreign when compared to his father.
"I mean listen to all the redrobes babbling on while our people are actually the ones dying." His voice didn't have a thick norse or celtic accent like most other midgardians had. . . .
Ehab
Ehab looked over to the others, and the Sultan Lord, as they stood from their chairs at the table. Looping his left hand in his belt, standing comfortably, he watched as the others began standing as well, talking amongst themselves.
"Did anyone else see that he bleeds when he coughs?" he said in a hushed, worried tone. "That certainly cannot mean something good..."
he looked to the ground as he talked. If the King was incapacitated, then the meeting would be put on hold. If the meeting was put on hold, that would delay everything...
Desmun
Desmun stood with his uncles, wide eyed. It was obvious that the King was sick, but now- they were all witness to its sincerity. The cardinal, and his templars, as well as the King's advisor exited the room carrying the king to another chamber.
You could hear his shout-like coughs from down the hallway before the door was closed by one of the servants on her way out. It certainly did not sound good.
Though Desmun lead his family over, motioning for the emissaries from Nantenland and Galgaroth to gather with him. He then looked to Nemor's own cohort of rangers. Odd, it was. Galgaroth and Nantenland were the two largest and most influential countries of Ajora. They were also seemingly constantly at war. In fact, their people were at odds since the times of Ruvelia 2,000 years ago; even vying for the throne beginning the 100 years war, 180 years ago. Galgaroth and Nantenland were vying for the throne after King Faneth passed, as it seemed the Faneth bloodline was wavering. Nantenland was in support of the young, but frail prince Faneth- as House Nanten was the godfather of the Prince, and Galgaroth was in support of their now widowed Queen- who was part of the Galgaroth family to begin with. It was during that war that Nemor seceded from Nantenland becoming its own sovereign country. Though now, that the Nantenland had changed powers, things may be different.
They needed to discuss the matters of their countries. If the King would not return, it would be upon them to figure something out. Their lands couldn't take the onslaught much longer. They were all loyal to the King, but one life over the lives of many- the choice was obvious. None of them would let their people continue to die to wait on the health of the King to improve...
Desmun stood, his uncles behind him talking among themselves for a while. He crossed his arms, awaiting to see if the groups of Nantenland and Galgoroth would approach. He then turned to nod to the rangers behind himself.