My foothold in the world of fantasy - The council of blackreach

Black reach. My attempt at a fantasy story. An Idea which has been evolving in the forefront of my thoughts for weeks now finally comes to life.

The council of Derillium

The devil wears many masks to hide his true face, one of them being the angel of 

light. 

They came as saviours burning away the darkness of black reach with a thought. Conjuring light from their palm by drawing on an ancient power this world has never seen. They saved Derillium from The Verrin, a nomadic bipedal race of brutes hellbent on spilling every drop of blood north of the Durain mountains.

The eastern beasts they’re called and Derillium is just one of many great cities which they have drenched in flame. First it was Biran, the fortress city planted in the east three hundred years ago by the Sylvaen. Biran reigned over the east since the day of its creation. The Sylvaen garrison protected her lands with an iron fist and although immune to the effects of time, their blood now runs in rivers from Biran's burning 

carcass. 

When the beacons were lit Derillium held its breath and her army stepped forth, ready to defend her titanic walls knowing that it would mean their deaths.

The night was long. The song of slaughter, a crescendo of souls all crying out at once trembled the ground, but we all thought it was the coming wave of Verrin charging in through the breach in our great walls.

The Sylvaen’s fourth army were due to reinforce Derillium by dawn, they would not be saviours but instead they would avenge us. 

Nearly half of Derillium’s army, the fighting force of man in this world we call black 

reach, had been slaughtered.

We thought we would never see the light again until it was cast from their hand, 

conjured by our saviours. The Encarnae.

A thousand whispers, legends heading the call of a desperate Derillium came 

burning across the battlefield. Spilling forth from a celestial orb forced into existence by their sheer might alone. 

Magic was thought to be an extinct art and yet here it is, webbing across reality. With blade and ancient magic the Encarnae rid Derillium of the Verrin and then came the sun.

By the time Dawn broke, bringing with the first few rays of daylight the fourth army of the Sylvaen the battle had been won and Derillium stood tall.

It was a horrid battle, the worst black reach had ever seen. It would have taken 

months to clear the battlefield, bury and honour our dead. But with Encarnae blessing our city with their gifts, the land was healed within a week.

And the Encarnae were hailed as heroes, as gods.

I…we saw them for what they were.

The devil wears many masks to hide his true face, one being the angel of light. A powerful being with a false tongue and blinding beauty. 

The many mouths of black reach whisper at night of a people in the mountains, 

entombed in blessed bone walls who cast pure magic from their finger tips and pull wealth from water. These are just tales derived from infatuation, children's stories told to make the weak feel safe in their beds, behind their walls and far from the horror that they truly are.

But not one soul will ever detail how they killed the Verrin that night. How their minds brought forth such powerful magic that their enemies disintegrated, a fleeting scream rippling from boiling throats as they went.

Not one man will dare speak of how their enemies perished, dragged underneath the soil by black tendrils howling, thrashing wildly.

They are all too blind to it, to the question, what will become of us should they be our enemy.

And that is why I have gathered the generals of the north to Derillium, witness to the Encarnae’s massacre.

This hall, the statues and podiums lining the walls, a home for its greatest triumphs shall be our council chamber. Around the three dimensional, octagonal wooden map of black reach we will counsel the weary lords and ladies of this fine land and unveil the Encarnae’s mask. 

“There is much to discuss” My voice dances down the hall even as I reach across the table to flick a weary finger at the Durain mountains. The nine great leaders of Black Reach rest their eyes upon my hand as I move a wooden model of Derillium across the Durain mountains.

“The east is well guarded, we can all be assured that Durain and his army will defend the passage into the heart of black reach well. However this enemy is nothing we have fought before”.

“The Encarnae?” The king of the Sylvaen spits “The saviours of your city?”.

I know this king, the one who was too late, too late to reinforce my city, too late to help win the battle he promised to fight, too late to save his own family from the Verrin when they attacked his kingdom of Sylver. An arrogant warlord who is fat with love for himself that he named his kingdom after himself.

“Saviours is a naive title, they are monsters”.

Most of the lords murmur and nod in agreement, their hands fall absent mindedly to the pommels of their swords, fingers dance anxiously for war.

The rest however swallow their protests in hopes of a more civilised discussion.

“We all know their home is in the east. The Derillium fighters have sent forth their scouts to find this kingdom of bone and soon they will return” Every word is fueling their fear, fear which soon warps into wrath. Hearts beat like the drums to war and the air in the chamber fills with heat.

“Scouts?” Sylver recoils “You dare breach their lands with scouts? What will their lords think when they discover that mortals from the midlands are poking around their kingdom. One which they earned, took upon my request so that they may better guard the east from the Verrin, should they rise again” He has the voice of an ancient king, there is little emotion, little evidence of disdain or disgust and yet much power. 

“Yes. Scouts” I snarl and my eyes narrow as they lock with him.

Sylver is a tall silver haired man with ice white pools for eyes and features that cut sharper than his sword. And with his gaze alone he blocks my coming words as they growl their way up my throat.

“And what will you do when they discover your infiltration of their lands?” He asks, pointing his nose at me, sending forth words of tempered anger booming powerfully.

“The scouts of Derillium’s garrison are the greatest wielders of stealth in all of black reach, trained personally by her ladies sable court. They will not be seen” And the confidence fills my features, erasing the stone look i have been donning since the meeting began.

The Sable Court, the assassins of black reach. Silent killers who, from the shadows, have been silencing armies since the dawn of her ladies court.

This lady buries her lethality under her red velvet cloak. This black threading slithers along its every edge and as her hands come to rest on her hips her premium black leather harness.

Over her shoulder comes the warm loving voice of her ladies husband. ‘There is always the option of peace, but first you must murder your fear’ His voice rings in her mind as if he is whispering into her ear. His words dance the length of her spine and for a moment, only a moment she is filled with warmth. But quickly his voice descends into the back of her thoughts.

I see her lady sable shrug, longingly gaze at Sylver and bat her eyes twice. She is ordering her shadows to strike.

It seems that Sylver's protests have gone ignored by the majority of the lords and ladies gathered. They truly see the Encarnae for what they are, monsters, If only Sylver could see it, what a powerful ally he could be.

“You are so confident in your scouts?” He prods, questioning me like I am some misbehaving child.

And I nod. 

“Good, because if they find them you will be forced to answer for your actions”.

Lady sable sees her shadows in position for the killing blow and with a cold smile pulling at the corners of her mouth she speaks with a voice like venom.

“Sylver, your kingdom. Will you offer it as sanctuary to the Encarnae should war break out?”

Without a moment's hesitation he nods.

And Lady Sable bows her head, the killing command.

Daggers of obsidian strike as fast as instant as lightning. But Sylver has moved, in one swift motion he has danced away, drawn his blade and in the same movement has brought his weapon down, slicing the assassin's head clean from her shoulders.

The body crumbles to the ground a second after the dismembered head goes bouncing underneath the wooden table. A great pool of blood grows at the stump and the assassin spasms slightly.

“You dare order the death of a king?” Sylver snarls disgustedly. 

Lady Sable simply smiles. There is another shadow looming. 

The blade is soaring for his neck. Sylver can feel the air burning behind him and his every nerve is screaming at him to dodge. He is not fast enough and yet he does not need to be.

Darkness has been snatched and held, suspended in her murderous lunge.

Nine Lords and Ladies reach for their weapons but upon seeing the tenth member of this council, they come to realise that their weapons would do little to save them.

glaring down the hall, barely a dozen feet from them their eyes rest upon a cloaked figure. Staff in hand, the crystal at its tip glowing hot white. Void black robes whose fabric swims like its own ocean, dance in an absent wind. An aura of ancient power so raw, so fierce that it throbs from him in deafening waves.

The Lord of the Encarnae steps once. The ground, black marble, entrapping the glowing colours of flowing lava as they fall behind the many statues, cracks like glass under his boot until he stops at Sylver’s side.

They share a momentary look of respect. Sylver nods, turns to the assassin and beheads her.

The crystal flickers and drops the body that slaps the oozing blood at their feet.

“I found your scouts”

Anger fills my face and the monster before me takes note and continues.

“No harm will come to them. But this invasion of our land must be explained”.

His voice booms, rippling across reality like wind on a silk blanket.

We have no words, our throats are swollen with fear.

“Explain yourself!”

No one says a word, no one other than Sylver.

“They are afraid of your kind. They seek to undo your growing empire to ensure their own safety” Sylver leans closer and hushes his words “They are scared, nothing more. I assure you”.

One moment this cloaked lord is stoic and listening intently, the next his eyes flare white and flames lick his brow.

“The scouts, the fear. I can understand. But kidnapping one of my people?!”

All heads snap to one man. Me.

“I have been patient with you, Lord Bastion. For decades I have tried to form a union between our great people. And you have forsaken my every attempt. Why?” He is desperate for an answer. But to this question? He will not receive one.

I take a look around the table at all the lords and ladies of black reach and I see it as plain as the sun upon their skin, they want war.

“Since the first day you have demonstrated only one thing, a monstrous lust for slaughter. The way you butchered-”

“We stopped the Verrin advance through the north, saved Derillium and the one hundred thousand souls within. We rebuilt your walls, buried your dead!”.

“You bent reality to your will to achieve such things!” I roar down the hall, punching the table with both of my clenched fists “Your casters and your cartographers have done well to map out black reach and her future. You yourself have done well to vanish into the east, casting your spells in your halls, all the while we retake what was stolen from us!” The Encarnae lord is silently waiting for me to finish and so I erupt.

“Black Reach has come to understand one thing about your wretched people, you are abominations and of this world you must be purged” 

His eyes flare with heat “You would deny an entire people of a future all because your limited understanding fills you with fear” Shocked, he glances at the other stone faces around him “You will lead your armies to war against people who have done nothing but aid you?!”

They do nothing to react, some drop their eyes to the floor possibly in shame, the others however are staring at him in hatred.

“Is that it? Is that your decision? Are you so ready to tread the road to war that you do not think of the path in which you are taking?! Will my people truly be sentenced to death by rats who have tunneled their way into positions of power?” Pain mixed with a dash of desperation, that is all there is in those words.

Sylver won't allow the silence to fester for long, his silk voice carves clean through their ears “The Encarnae will have my blade, all they must do is ask”.

The Lord of the Encarnae is no longer in this chamber, physically there he stands motionless. However his mind is reaching out deep into the future, witnessing events not yet unfolding.

Black Reach’s valleys run crimson. Its mountains stand stained with the marks of conquest. Iron unsheathed lay like blades of grass in fields that reach the horizon. Their masters lay with them. Returned to the soil.

Derillium’s carcass has been ripped open, its people spill like blood from cavernous wounds. Yet a better sight than his own domain.

A tear drops down the crest of his cheek and his heart breaks for this war, if unleashed will be the end of black reach.

The Lord of the Encarnae speaks one final time “I beg of you to reconsider, for the sake of this world. Please” We blink and he along with Sylver is gone.

A thick blanket of silence is suffocating us. We all know that Black Reach must be cleansed, it must be saved from these anomalous creatures.

I take one last look at the soon to be warlords around me, not a single one of them will be a victim of apathy and let these things live. Black Reach will be ours again.

“Lords, Ladies” I swallow hard. A few of them rest their weight on their knuckles and lean over the table.

Lady Sable is joyfully toying with her dead assassin's dagger and the air where Sylver was standing is ice cold.

“Today we go to war”