Welcome to Gaia! ::

((And now, the long awaited council-post. Please forgive me for it's lateness and it's disappointing shortness: I had a major time-cut that I had to endure.))

The Council had assembled. In the dark circular room, several loud, angry voices pulsed off of heavy granite walls as Ralendine strolled through the large door and took his seat. Where Helena chose to observe was none of his concern.

Three fully armored knights sat on opposite ends of a large table, pointing fingers at eachother and pounding their fists on the table, among other things. The commotion stopped after the Duke cleared his throat and brought up the first order of business. Only a few words were necessary.

"The Baeltan Invasion."

One of the council members immediately stood up from his seat. He was clad in silver armor, and he wore a helmet forged in the design of a peculiar face. This particular member of the Council was Dukort, the Master General.

"We are currently readying more soldiers to reinforce Dela. Anything that can be done is being done, and--"

He was quickly interrupted by Ibijias.

"You are moving too slow!" he yelled, "Anyone with common sense knows that the Baeltan nation does not waver over numbers! They have Mindbreakers, Dukort!"

"Are you implying that I lack common sense, Royal Marquis?!"

"I am implying that you are not suitable for your position!"

The Duke pounded his fists on the table.

"THERE WILL BE ORDER IN THIS COUNCIL!!!" he bellowed.

"My lord," said Dukort, "The Baeltan Empire is based around only that: Mindbreakers! They will not be able to stand against our armies, especially since we have the Court of Blades on our side!"

"It seems that you are underestimating the Mindbreaker's powers unpredictibyle."

Another Council member stood from his seat. This one was dressed in odd, sky-blue armor, decorated with dozens of large beads and small capricorns. This was Tavuske, the High Magus.

"The Mindbreakers have powers far beyond making minds controllibyle, Master General. They possess great skills in the arts magicyle, and some can even use the sword with skills unbelievibyle."

The Master General scowled.

"I don't need you to tell me that, High Magus. I have walked many battlefields covered with their dead, and I know perfectly well what they're capable of!"

"No need to get hostyle, Master General."

"Who's hostile? I am perfectly calm."

"No, you're not..." chuckled the Duke, "We all know that half of your first wave was razed to the ground by a mage controlled by a Baeltan Mindbreaker. There is no need to hide your feelings, Dukort."

Ibijias pounded both fists on the table, rattling it with his enormous strength.

"We are missing the point here!" he yelled, "We need to strike the Baeltans where they sleep! When the situation is this desperate, we cannot carry on these foolish traditions of honor and valiance, marching to the battlefield like old desert spinsters!"

"Silence, heathen!" bellowed Dukort, brandishing his sword.

"You will treat your superiors with respect!!!" roared Ibijias.

"THERE WILL BE ORDER IN THIS COUNCIL!!!" yelled the Duke as he stood up from his chair.

There was then silence in the council, and everyone sat down again. The Duke looked around, noticing that one council member among their number was absent.

"Tell me, my friends..." he said to the others, "Where is Rikewell?"

"The High Viscount?" said Dukort, "Why, I have no idea. He should be here..."

Tavuske folded his arms.

"He is most likely involved in matters most cruciyle." he said, "Worry not; his presence is not vityle to this meeting professionyle. We are here to discuss the war, not the kingdom's rising issues financiyle."

Ibijias grimaced. He despised Tavuske's speaking habit with a passion, but never said anything; most likely because the High Magus's powers far exceeded that of his own. The Royal Marquis sank lower into his seat.

"That is yet another problem that Dukort has caused to befall our kingdom." he said, twiddling his thumbs, "The Master General's constant and highly demanding military procedures cost a fortune. We cannot afford these... useless charades... any longer! If I were Master General, I'd take some action, instead of waiting for them to blow us to kingdom come!"

Tavuske laughed.

"I suggest that you worry about your own issues finaciyle, Royal Marquis, before you point fingers at others accountabyle." he said, still laughing, "We are all in such trouble, and the High Viscount is doing all of which he is capabyle to help us out of this mess abdominabyle."

Ralendine stood up, tired from the completely off-topic arguments between the other council members.

"The reason we are all gathered here today," he said, "is because of the Grand Bishop."

Ibijias's eyes widened.

"Des Valius?! What place does such a traitor have in this war? He abandoned our nation to save his own life!"

Dukort growled. The Grand Bishop, Leviathe Des Valius, had been a great role model to the Master General for almost 10 years. Surely the Grand Bishop had a good reason for leaving Favraes; he was not the kind to valued his own life before the lives of others. In fact, there were rumors that he had always wanted to die, but no opponent could kill him (he was not about to let the foe have a free kill, of course) even if Leviathe went easy on them.

"The Grand Bishop would never betray us, especially in our darkest hour." said Dukort, "He must be hiding somewhere..."

"Our sources reliabyle indicate sightings of the Grand Bishop in all parts of Mythicaa." said Tavuske, "He could could be anywhere, but he is obviously traveling across the land, eluding our detection."

Raledine looked at Helena, and then back at the council.

"Helena and I think that Des Valius may be hiding among the Ganzi in their underground city." he said, "That is the only explanation for his elusiveness."

Ibijias laughed and stood up from his chair.

"The Ganzi?! Those pathetic, overgrown furballs died off with all of the other ancient scum thousands of years ago! You cannot possibly expect them to still-"

"The Ganzi are still alive, Marquis." said Dukort, "I had one in my squad... I can't recall his name, though..."

"The name of a single, extinct lowlife is not relevant to this situation, Master General." said Ibijias, "The Ganzi are all dead. They have been for thousands of years, just like the Draons and the Maugrev. If this knight is really what you claim, he will join his ancestors soon enough."

The door behind them opened, and in walked the High Viscount, Rikewell. The High Viscount was dressed in dark-colored robes, and a large piece of black armor was fitted from his waist up. In his hands, he held a small, glowing crystal ball, inside it a swirling blue mist. Behind him was Felicks, an enigmatic man dressed in strange red clothing. On his face he wore a peculiar, beast-like mask that covered all except for his mouth. His long, untidy silver hair was sloppily tied into a ponytail, and the top of his hair stuck upward form his scalp (think Wolverine).

"I apologize for my late arrival, fellow council members." said Rikewell, "I was preoccupied at the moment... What did I miss?"

"Nothing, Rikewell." said the Duke, "Please, sit down and we will continue."

The High Viscount did just that and looked at the other council members, tightly clutching his crystal ball. Dukort turned and looked at Felicks. The man's eyes glowed red in the darkness of his mask.

"And what exactly are you doing here... Felicks, was it?" asked the Master General.

Felicks bit his lower lip, chuckling quietly.

"Such an honor that the Master General remembers my name!" laughed the man, "I will be sure to tell my friends about this day!"

"Don't flatter yourself." growled Dukort, "You don't have any friends."

Felicks smiled, humming a happy tune to himself.

"Ah, I wouldn't go and assume things that aren't true, Master General..." he snarled treacherously, "It could be the end of you someday."

He grinned and licked his lips, his snow-white teeth gleaming in the shadows. Dukort ignored the man. All of the council members did not trust him a single bit, yet they still gave him orders to carry out, mostly because he did his job fast and he did it well.

Ralendine sneered at the man in red.

"Felicks," he said, "I assume your task is complete?"

"Why yes, Your Grace, It is done." said Felicks, "You made it sound so hard... I must admit, I was disappointed."

"...Right. Now get out and get some sleep."

"Thanks much, Your Grace."

Felicks bowed and stepped out of the room, vanishing from sight. The Duke sighed and rubbed his forhead, wondering if this council meeting was ever going to end. He looked up at Tavuske.

"High Magus," he said, "What course of action would you reccomend for stopping the Baeltans?"

Tavuske shook his head in thought.

"I suggest that we deal with this situation in a matter gentyle." he said, "Let us try and negotiate a truce reasonabyle."

Ibijias scowled and stood up from his chair.

"Are you suggesting we waltz into their camps and surrender, High Magus?!" he yelled, "That is suicide!"

" We cannot afford to fight them in a manner such futyle..." said Tavuske, "If we do not take action soon, then our beloved kingdom will be at an end most undesirabyle."

"What is wrong with all of you?! If we want victory, we must attack them at their camps! We must not follow tradition or surrender!"

"You're implecations are most foolish, Royal Viscount." said Rikewell, "Negotiation is our greatest option if we have any hopes of ending this war. Quit acting like a child and accept the plan, or you will be punished. Do you understand?"

Behind his helmet, Ibijias was red with anger. He turned and left the room in a huff, growling to himself as he stormed through the council-room doors.

The Duke shook his head and looked at Helena.

"What are your thoughts on negotiation?" he asked, "I believe we all agree with Tavuske's plan, am I right?"

Tavuske remained silent, while Dukort nodded his head in agreement. Rikewell did the same, and they had to assume that Ibijias reluctantly agreed as well. The council remained silent, waiting for Helena's reply.

The Draon stomped down the hall, the great blade dragging on the ground as she looked into the hallway, "This architecture is horrific. It is ugly to my sight... I'll be glad once we're done here."

Two guards came rushing up, full plat armor, but skidded at the sight of the Draon.

"A demon?!"

"No! that's no demon! Demons usually do without armor..." the other stuttered.

"Give me the girl." The Draon growled, making a grasping motion with her free gauntlet while purple energies flicked across it.

"Wh-what girl?" one of the guards shrank back in fear, the other stepped forward and drew his blade.

"A jailbreak? You'll never re-" His sentence was cut off when the Draon put a sword through his head.

"Lead me to the cells, or I'll find my own way... in blood." she warned the remaining guard.

---

The Nesk scurried to the front, immediately causing the Sentinel to hesitate (a horde creature stopping another is practically unheard of.) The Nesk pointed the carapace blade at the creature, "Ne'galash hive livess in uss!" It said, stabbing forward.

Clem fumbled in his pouches and poured fluid into the sand. "I've put down sealant, so we're standing on a sheet of glass..." he said, "The creatures won't be able to break through it, so we have a slight advantage..."

He looked at the Magus, "You don't look too good..." He held out a vial, "Drink this... it's a cocktail of nutrient extracts... I carry four total at all times... But I never want to use them... they taste like spinach."

(And that is how Hashmal asks for directions...)

---

Vin looked up, "I apologize for misleading you..."

Aria shook her head, "Vin comes with me. He just... lacks emotion sometimes." She smiled and nodded.

Vin responded by going into the skiff cabin.

(())

Perrault yelped and covered his eyes, not at all wanting to see the blood and gore that Hashmal loved so much.

"I-I don't think that's n-necessary, Hashmal..." he whimpered, scared out of his mind.

(())

Perrault gulped and held his breath. He was the elven equivalent of a 13-year old boy, and as a result, he had a 13-year old stomach, which was pretty weak.

"C-Can we just find the p-princess and get out of here...?" he said weakly, "Please?"

(We could write a comedy series about these two... xd )

"From a warrior's stance, yes. And in your current company, that is the only opinion that matters." Hashmal stated, kicking the guard again, "Faster fleshling! you move slower than a corpse!"

"I've yet to see any worthwhile skills from you other than burning noodles... but I doubt we're going to fight a beast of spaghetti..."

Hashmal looked at the cursers, "okay... do they explode?"