The South Western Council, increasingly called the Western Council after the Falamar of the Lunan agreed to join in the efforts to contain the Infernals, has had one defeat after another at the hands of fate.
All non-Infernals but the Sheaim have been ejected from the Fane of Lessers before Malakim, Nortek, and Grigori reinforcements could arrive. It is a nearly impenetrable fortress, with only raids possible at this point.
The Plague has spread to the Deadlands much faster than thought possible, leaving the Elohim, Austrin, and Amurites devastated as the Sheaim undead armies of diseased corpses and pyre zombies march on unaffected.
The Infernals, with the hidden ships, have spread to the edge of the continent, while Grigori Serpentine have only begun to land and invade the northernmost isle.
The Elohim risk being ejected from the last of their isles, opening way for the Infernals on the Fane of Lessers to aid the Sheaim. If they fall, the Deadlands may once again be Tebryn's uncontested domain.
And most worryingly of all, there are reports of strange findings and disappearances of patrols in the South.
The mood in the Council war room is anxious and stressed. Tempers flare, and resentment is rife as those who do more are upset with those who do not. Already one Grigori minister has had to be escorted from the room.
Most of those remaining are leaders and their highest officials, sitting on the council ring while a large map below them is updated. The Ring is elevated above the floor of the room: a perfect circle to symbolize their equality as partners, while leaving the floor free to be updated and changed as needed.
Capria takes this all in, and wonders what horrible news will arrive next. As she does, she listens to others whisper.
The Lunan envoy, a friend of Falamar's, is whispering to the Elohim ambassador.
"It must be the Sheaim," he is trying to convince his opposite. "Only they could have had the means to order the ships the Infernals are using."
"Ships you built," snapped the Elohim ambassador, a woman tired of being hit on and flirted with by the Lunan party.
"We did not know," the Lunan protested, almost raising his voice. "We received an order, and carried it out. It was the same way that the Grigori fleet was made. And regardless," he continued, "we remain your best hope of finding and sinking those ships. We just need to find their home port, and I'm convinced that it's with the Sheaim..."
Turning away, she saw other ambassadors discussing their own concerns. The Malakim were arguing about access rights to the Marble Road through the Nortek capital, which was often blocked with Nortek traffic. The Nortek were concerned with access to the Elohim ports and who would provide the ships to send their army with.
Nearly everyone stared harshly at the Bannor. Focused on exploiting the most of Operation Salamandar and discovering the root of the eastern Disappearance, the Bannor were not inclined to send their armies to the Deadlands at the moment, where plague would devestate them. Instead they had only provided continental support in the preparations of the South, and at the moment many felt that it was the Bannor who were not committed to the fight.
Well, when the Chislev threat was finished once and for all, they would show them what dedication truly meant. These folk had gone too long with only conventional wars to inform them.
To Capria's right, however, sat the only peaceful being in the room: Cassiel. Though properly Prime Minister Esirce's position, the philosophical leader of the Grigori had filled in for the Prime Minister, and everyone appreciated his presence. He and he alone seemed calm and relaxed, unworried. His words gave others an avenue to peace and not disagreement, his counsel mended the irate differences in this fragile and new alliance of nations.
Capria wondered just how much of it was an act, a presentation for others. Over the time of her stay in the Grigori capital, she had grown to know Cassiel better than she had expected to. She could see in him his signs for long nights and less sleep, saw in his words the struggle to provide a neutral and better view on the situation.
Cassiel saw her glance and nodded in acknowledgment of her, bending to his left to speak to her. Capria also wondered why she and her delegation had been placed to the Grigori left, while the Malakim had been placed to the Grigori right. As a reflection of favor as war ally and vassal respectively? In attempt to bend their neighbor's ear? Personal affection and respect?
"You seem distracted," Cassiel whispered in his unique voice, which oh-so-slightly resembled her Lord Sabbathiel's. "Are you concerned?"
"Are you not?" she countered. "The Infernals make the Fane an impenetrable fortress. The Sheim threaten the same for the Dead Lands. And any day now, we might well hear the reports of Infernal forces on the coast, hoping to make a stronghold from which we might never eject them."
"Peace," Cassiel counseled. "There will always be a way. Evil is self-destructive at it's greatest pinnacle of power, and good men and women will always find a way to exploit that flaw."
Capria frowned, a formidable expression in its own right. "If I were to rely on hope of a enemy mistake, I would never have survived Hell," she said. "I require strength and power of my own, to resist the enemy's advance."
"But is that not why we, this council, has come together?" he asked. "Because we are not strong enough on our own yet, and wish to bind our separate strengths together?"
Capria looked at him. "You wish to find more allies?" she asked.
"I will create my own flaw," he said, and she knew he was not referring to his learned alcoholism.
Dramatically, in a non-dramatic fashion, a door to the Council opened. A page, looking both meek but purposeful, quietly walked to the stairs of the Ring and climbed the stairs. Something in his manner attracted attention, and quiet followed. Stepping behind Cassiel, he leaned over his shoulder on Capria's side and whispered words that every member in the council could hear.
"They are here, Elder Statesman."
Then, much more dramatically, the doors to the Hall burst open. Trumpets hailed the arrival of a Representative of a Sovereign, but it was an anthem Capria did not quite recognize. She and others stared as a foreign official in strange, old-style garb marched onto the map below the ring. His purposeful steps guided him to the Isle marking the Scions of Patria, and Capria knew that the man below her was not alive.
"Council!" he spoke with flair, "I am Tibbus of Patria! And I come in the name of the Risen Emperor!"
Whispers began, and no member knew what to make of the new arrival. No one, of course, except for the Host. Capria shot Cassiel a look, and he favored her with a smile.
"Speak, Tibbus of Patria," Cassiel bid, playing his role. "What business do the Scions have here, in this Council of War?"
"Hail Cassiel!" Tibbus greeted. "The Risen Emperor has sent me to offer his aid in warring against those who defile death and order. My lord, long may he reign, wishes to offer his aid in the Deadlands, to avenge our defeat of long ago against the Sheaim. Our armies are untouched by the Plague. Our forces fearless. Their pervisions of death stand no chance against the Scions of Patria, who wishes to join this Council."
"And what does your Emperor ask in return?" asked Cassiel. "No man offers such aid without a steep price."
Tibbus shook his head. "My Emperor, in his generosity, demands no price in land, no tribute in gold. All he asks in return is allowance for our peaceful settlement of the coast, so that we might expand on the Continent without violence."
"And where do you wish to land?" asked the Malakim ambassador, a question which Capria suspected was planned ahead of time.
Tibbus walked from the Scion island to the southern coast of Mazera. "Here is where we wish to start, to re-establish Patria on this continent," he said. "The Southern Coast, well away from your present empires and with modest space to expand."
Many in the council gasped, not from the intent but from the precise location.
"That's-" Capria began, surprised.
"-where the Infernals are most likely to land," Cassiel finished for her. "Should the Infernals land, they will find themselves already opposed by a most formidable foe."
She shot him a look. "Do you think they can be trusted?" she asked.
"Would you rather leave those lands open to the Infernals?" he asked. "The Scions, for their eccentricities, are not an evil people. They can be dealt with, if it comes to it, even peacefully. They may well turn the tide of this war until we can break the Infernal grip on island chain."
"That might well be some time," Capria warned.
"It will be shorter if you help me," Cassiel said. "Will you?"
Capria almost responded before she thought to think of her position, and ended up saying nothing. But Cassiel understood, and turned to the Council and rose.
"I believe that this offer is genuine and fair," Cassiel said, gathering attention. "I hereby move that we accept this offer from the Scions, and assist them in their development. Are there any objectors?"
If there were any who refused to ally with the undead of Patria, they kept their peace.
"Then I move that we begin the voting. All in favor?"
The Western Council had suffered one defeat after another at the hands of fate. But they had not stood aside and submitted. They could claim victory with their own actions.
