TVC II Chapter 3 - The Second Council

[Disciple of Nagash]

“They are ready.” Phahotep’s voice rumbled through the door. Rowhaine sighed as he stood, rotating his shoulders. Champion or not, he could not avoid some measure of human aches and pains. In truth the wait had been longer than expected, but then he recalled the last Council and how long it had taken to get anything done at the start. If only Lesa was still here, now that was one person who would have been likely to call them into line.

A rare smile ghosted across Rowhaine’s face as he recalled the strong willed beauty that had been his mother-in-darkness. Enchanting and seductive with a temper to match, and in the end so much magic power that it she was rumoured to be amongst the most potent mages in existence. No doubt she would have solved the current problem much easier.

He had not wasted the extra time however, and he was once more clean and resplendent in his shining armour. Likewise the Ushabti had taken the time to clean the blood and dirt of battle, along with Anya who had remained surprisingly quiet. That was until now.

“I am coming as well,” she said as Rowhaine walked out of the door, jaw set stubbornly.

“Of course,” Rowhaine replied, eyebrow raised quizzically, “I had not suggested you do otherwise.”

“I mean I will join you visibly,” Anya explained, her meaning causing Rowhaine’s face to imperceptibly harden in resolve.

“This was not what we agreed Princess,” he said, stressing the title, “in return for allowing you to stay, you agreed to remain hidden. There are still too many dangers here.”

“Dangers which I am trained for as well as they!” Anya argued back, despite the glares of the Ushabti at the lack of appropriate respect, “I can best all men with the blade in Raestra, and the chosen of Neru are far from defenceless. It was that knowledge which told of how to defeat that creature, and it was likely I was seen then anyway. What would this Council say if they found out from the start that you were hiding things from them?” As she spoke Anya realised how the words sounded and she took a step back, calming down,

“I did not mean that as a threat Champion. I wish to see this venture succeed as much as anyone. I simply mean that if and when I am revealed it may cause doubt that such deceit has existed so long. My protection is not worth such a risk and I believe that the best course would be to be honest from the beginning.”

Silence followed, Rowhaine’s face unreadable as he simply stared at the princess. Under the harsh gaze she shifted uncomfortably, before finally opening her mouth to speak once more. However before she could Rowhaine turned away, striding down the hallway.

“So be it,” he said, “but from now on you will follow my commands. As was clear outside, the greater good will prevail, and not anything or anybody will be permitted to hinder this.” Anya fought back a shiver as she realised the dark intent behind the words, nodding in agreement she followed the entourage .


***

“What is that? No…no….no this will simply not do! HERBERT! Get over here!”

A little man dressed in the livery of a servant scarpered round the edge of the fabulously ornate coach. To call it decorative was to miss out on other more wonderful words such as sumptuous, baroque or ostentatious, or by those of the jealous nature, tacky and fanciful. In whatever way someone took it, there was no denying that the coach was designed to make an impression, right down to the pure white stallions with curled manes and golden bells on their harnesses.

“Yes Master?” Herbert queried, bobbing his head respectfully.

“Look at this!” A perfect pale hand extended out of the open doorway, the frilled edge of overcoat visible at the wrist. “It is broken.” Herbert peered myopically before tutting as he noticed.

“Yes yes, I see master. I’ll have that fixed in an instant.” Pulling a tool from his belt Herbet made quick work, and in less than a minute it was perfect.

“Very good,” Hugo von Hardon said, inspecting the nail, “it wouldn't do to appear anything less than perfect, especially in front of the Triumvirate.”

“They are that fearful Master?"

“No!” chuckled Hugo gesturing with his finger. Without a second thought Herbert threw himself into the muddy puddle, allowing Hugo to use him as a living step as he dismounted, “but they are simply ravishing. Mircea so brooding and mysterious, Karl with such a witty and sharp mind, and as for Simon –“ Hugo sighed, “- let’s just say I would like to do more than just run my hands through those curls of his.” Hugo drifted off into a homoerotic day dream for a moment, before the cough of Herbert brought him back.

“Ah yes, sorry Herbert,” Hugo said as he stepped off the man, “just wondering…..they do say such things about poets after all…” Herbert scrambled to his feet, brushing the mud off his uniform. Quickly he circled his master, checking for anything out of place of the blood red suit he wore, any speck of dirt. As usual there was nothing, and duty complete he informed his master.

“Excellent!” Hugo said, “now run along Herbert, I have no doubt there are some scullery maids round about you haven't rogered yet you old rogue. Although after our last visit please take care, Karl was quite verbal on the uses of goats and apparently your plan was not acceptable hmm?” Hugo dipped his head respectfully as his master walked off. The Dandy Vampy indeed he thought before casting his eye around……his master wasn't far wrong through, and he walked off with a twinkle in his eye.

OOC: I’ll post Hugo walking into the hall once everyone else is in there

**

Rowhaine strode into the hall, noting the large throne and the three seats before it. Two were occupied and Rowhaine gestured for Anya and the Ushabti to remain where they were as he approached.

“Lords von Carstein,” Rowhaine said in greeting, giving each a respectful half bow, “it is an honour to meet and to be able to thank you holding this gathering. I am Rowhaine Cromwell, former get of Milosh Cromwell and the line Carstein, now representative of Nehekhara.”

 

[Mello]

Alastor opened his eyes. He was laying down on his bed next to the still unmoving Marie, he tentatively reached out and touched her cheek. Warm, still alive. He should have been able to hear her heartbeat, but it was so, so faint. Did he really do this to people? His fears fled though when he saw her face, it was tranquil, happy almost. He smiled paternally. There was some hope yet.

The meeting!

Alastor jolted upright out of the bed, he had completely forgotten about that, and frankly it still didn't seem that important to him compared to the freedom of this girl here. Alastor wiped the tears off his face, and began his lengthy process of preparation, which he secretly thought rivalled that of lahmians, although he had yet to witness one.

He opened the door a crack and hailed another servant, who seemed anxious to see inside, but Alastor stood in the door frame, he wasn't going to let that happen. He asked for some clothes, not fully concentrating on who he was speaking to, which confused her evidently. Alastor didn't care, he was just caught between trying to concentrate enough to think about what clothes to wear and worrying whether Marie will wake up while he's talking to this slave. Fortunately, he hazily managed to list what he wanted and retreated indoors, having bought some precious moments of time. Alastor closed the door and bolted it noisily.

Reshorn, can I ask another favour of yours?

--------------------------------

Alastor emerged from his room, alone now. 5 hours.

He smoothed down the front of his jacket, and fluffed up his cravate. He was now dressed in pure black, with the exception of of a white chemise and the cravate 'a la region de le sud de la brettonia' if he remembered correctly. He also wore a black shoulder cape, which came down to his waist and covered his right arm over, until he flicked it over his shoulder according to the style, exposing the red underside to the cape. Closing his eyes he looked through his memory.

There was a gentle gust of wind as Alastor appeared in the corner of the court room, blowing out the nearest torch. Once more the two regents sat on their damned thrones, oozing arrogance. But there was one other in the room, Alastor could feel power just oozing out of him.

He glanced at the regents, not bothering to conceal his hate and irritation, "Regents.."

He turned to the newcomer, politely half bowing, sweeping his cape behind him. "So.. you must be the person we were waiting for. Welcome to this debauchery of a meeting, I'll garuntee we'll get nothing done here." he smirked.

 

[Simon von Carstein]

"Not with lower bloodline scum like you here to bring the tone of the meeting down." Simon smirked at Alastor as was appropriate. Turning to Rowhaine he said "I know who you are Rowhaine we were both there at the original Council though you were just accompanying Milosh and Lesa and your sister in death Rayla at the time."

 

[Disciple of Nagash]

"I am gratified at your recollection Simon," Rowhaine replied with the same familiarity, "as I too have lasting memeories of you and your brethren."

Rowhaine turned and glanced at Alastor, noting his appearance. The overall effect combined with the poor manners spoke volumes of the vampires age and experience or lack thereof.

"I am indeed the one who called this meeting, although I do not recall sending an invite to yourself?" The question hung in the air as he continued, "I am aware of the poor results from the first meeting and I assure you that such......occurances will not continue."

 

[Mello]

Alastor revelled in the unbridled hostility directed towards him, yet still some small part of him whimpered. Some very very small part of him.. He ignored Simon's comment, at least for now, and remained facing this 'Rowhaine'

"I have come with Kraskor Banespike, hopefully you invited him."

Alastor chuckled melodically, like a jovial wraith "Let's hope so, may patience ran a bit thin last time. Frankly as long as the necromancer doesn't appear again there won't be barely a hitch."

 

[Ghouly]

“Put up with Carssssstinesssss, bullsssit, and sssssstill ssssssmaed Bonehead!” everyone’s head turned towards the doorway as Graveclaw pushed his way past the Ushabti, the Strigoi’s mouth, chest and forearms were slathered in Skaven blood, causing the beasts eye to glow a hellish red. Graveclaws gaze settled on Rowhaine “Cromwell’s boy” the Strigoi rumbled before returning to the corner he had haunted throughout the first council.

 

[Disciple of Nagash]

At the appearance of Graveclaw, Rowhaine turned and dipped his head in greeting.

"Graveclaw it is a please to meet with you one more. It has been far too long since your last visit to Nehekhara." Unlike many others the Champion held a great deal of respect for the Strigoi, remembering the fondest Lesa had for the vampire. However there was a change in him, he seemed to have reverted somewhat to the more bestial creature that he used to be and Rowhaine wondered what had happened since they last met.

Turning back to Alastor, he answered his earlier question,

"Ah yes. So you are the progeny they spoke of. Interesting. Who is this Necromancer you speak of however? "

 

[Mello]

Alastor raised an eyebrow. "They?" he grinned slightly, "I didn't think there was much to say about me. Well at least that you can tell to my face. Ahehehe...

The Necromancer? I don't remember his name. Shortish fellow with an over the top attitude and a staff that's compensating for something. Believe's he could kill everyone in this castle if he wanted to." Alastor smiled drily.

"Trust me, you won't miss him."

 

[Count Darvaleth]

Kraskor walked with Nehklior into the meeting chamber, remembering the abysmal first attempt without Rowhaine. Graveclaw, not quite as hostile than in the previous meeting but no less fearsome, occupied what was fast becoming his personal corner of the chamber. Kraskor still wore the red, aristocratic robes he had been furnished with by the Carsteins. He had left his armour pieces in a basin of cleansing fluid, a compound based on various metalwork oils and a little dab of sorcery. Kraskor's training under Nehklior had allowed him to augment has already-competent level of armour and weapon working, keeping his equipment in top shape. He still had the hilt and broken shards of the Red Blade, lying in a wooden box in Nehklior's Tower. He could reforge it, but Kraskor had moved on; it represented a past stage in his life, one he had left behind.

One thing Kraskor evidently hadn't left behind, however, was Alastor. The young vampire was already bandying words with Rowhaine, and had, by the look of his face, already perturbed the Lord-Imperator.

Kraskor sighed inwardly before stepping forward, presenting himself to the Lords with a bow,

"My Lords Imperator and Regent," he said, aiming his respectful greeting towards Simon and Karl before turning to the Champion. "Lord Rowhaine," he finished, again accompanying his words with a modest bow.

The Blood Dragon gave the slightest of sideways looks towards Alastor, hoping he might learn a little of court intrigue and respect for the chain of being. This was all thought inwardly, of course; who knows how Alastor might receive it.

Hesitating slightly, Kraskor turned back to Rowhaine. There had been a couple of things nagging Kraskor's mind of late, and he wanted to set them straight.

"My Lord Rowhaine, just a couple of questions, if it pleases you," began Kraskor, "Your Lordship arrived here at the same time as Nehklior and myself, but your entrance here was delayed. Indeed, Empire scouts claimed to have captured you. When I was brought to where you were being "held", you did not appear to require much in the way of aid. Might I ask, how was it that you ended up there?" asked Kraskor. Whilst this first query had puzzled him, it had not disturbed him as the second one had.

"And secondly, if I may, there was something about the Fleshwyrm that disturbed me. It wasn't the fact that it was an utterly vile and miserable creature, that fact arouses nothing in me. What caused me... distress, for want of a better word, was when it warped into a more... humanoid form. It adopted a dual-bladed fighting stance against your Lordship." Kraskor paused, trying to think of a way to best phrase his concern.

"Whilst I never doubted your abilities for a second, my lord, there was something about the fighting style of the beast that... alarmed me. At the time the beast adopted the twin-weapon stance, I myself had acquired a second blade and was using it to fight a Skaven engineer of some sorts, which was using a single weapon. It may sound unbelievable, but for a while, our duels were... in sync. Whilst your Lordship fought on a scale beyond my comprehension, the similarities were undeniable. Wherever I fought harder and pushed against the Skaven's guard, the wyrm mimicked the exact same sequence, albeit on a much faster and more precise level. When I despatched the Skaven, and saw that your duel was progressing almost identically towards the same... well, conclusion... it troubled me greatly." Hoping he wasn't sounding completely insane, Kraskor pressed on,

"Forgive me for saying it, but I feared for your safety, my Lord. Somewhere you thankfully managed to throw the progression off-balance, disrupt the sequence so that it reached a different outcome. I suppose my second question, then, my Lord, is... how is all that possible?"

 

[Bounce]

After meeting with Kavok in the hall, Elanor returned to her room to get ready for the second attempt at the council meeting. The now cold corpse of the man she had drank from still lay on the floor. His eyes wide and empty. Yet she moved around the room as if there was nothing particularly interesting. She made sure this time to clean off all the blood. She did not have much of a selection of clothes with her but chose a dress of black silk with a single red rose upon her breast. Twirling around in front of the mirror she laughed and then set off for the throne room.

She entered hesitantly. The power in the room was even greater than before. Deep, strong, ancient and yet familiar. It was invigorating and crushing. She managed to focus and curtsied deeply.
"My lords and ladies." She said respectfully and then moved to one side of the throne room. She doubted that they would really want her opinion particularly much but it was important to analyse the strengths and weaknesses of each party present. Who hated who and what they were preparing to do about it. They might seem united but any moment could descend to a loodbath as indeed their first meeting had. She eyed graveclaw apprehensively. Why had they let the beast return? She had remembered the way her magic seemed to just slide off him and shivered. This was a dangerous place.[/i]

 

[Mello]

As Kraskor and Nehklior entered the room, Alastor caught a sideways glance, a very irritated one from Kraskor. Evidently his success in the last meeting was not to be repeated. Alastor hated most of the people in this room and their stupid, stupid rules, but he wasn't a fool. There was a time and a place for everything. Neither were his right now.

He took a step backwards and slid down the wall, resting his chin on his knees and drawing his half cape over as much of his body as he could, and proceeded to stare at the entrance, waiting to see came in. Given a brief glance one could forgive him for a sulking child, but any longer and he seemed like some great vulture, biding it's time, waiting.

Heck he could even gain sympathy by actively not insulting the very fabric of what people called 'polite', who knows?

 

[Dark_Wolfen]

"Ah, but the meeting is about to begin," Nimrais said to Morturion. "How do I look? Wait, forget that, that probably doesn't concern you much. Anyway, I'll head over now, I'll no doubt hear from you again soon." Nimrais made a little bow and walked past Morturion towards the court room.

"If it's any consolation, I think you look quite stunning," the shade said slightly posh.

"You always say that," Nimrais replied.

"That's cause it's true, miss Nahmir. You might no longer wear your noble dress, but everything you wear looks great."

He did have a point, her beautiful dress was ruined beyond repair. But now now longer dressed like a noble lady, she still looked stunning in her black boots, blue pants, white shirt and over that a blue jacket.

Once she entered the room, she went over to the Triumvirate and Rowhaine. Rowhaine looked odd, he wasn't a vampire, that was certain, but he also radiated something more than human. As she walked closer, she got a more and more oppressive feeling. When she stood in front of the thrones, the feeling was almost unbearable, but she had to wait until Alastor and Kraskor were finished talking with the lordships.

 

[The Dread King]

Morturion said a quick, curt "Goodbye" to Nimrais as she walked off. Well, that was interesting. Perhaps I have an ally after all. He walked towards throne room briskly. He could sense a powerful presence there, that could only be Rowhaine. As Defiance started to dog his footsteps, Morturion bit back bitter hatred and memories of Rowhaine in the last war of Nagash. Regrettably, Rowhaine was stronger than Morturion, so now was not the time for action, but for wordplay.

Morturion entered the throne room with a large, nasty grin on his face. "Greetings, Rowhaine!" he exclaimed. "Do you remember me? I last saw you in the battle at Nagashizzar, but do not fear, for I shall not fight with you, but colaborate". That is, until you have served my purposes. "In case you are wondering, I received your plea for aid from a dying messenger in the badlands."

That's only a half-lie. He was dying after I reached him, not before. Morturion almost laughed at the thought. He remembered what had happened well. Morturion's wraith-spies had dragged him in, begging for mercy. The parchment had already been taken from him, as had most of his vital organs. Morturion leant in close, smelling the man's rotten breath with a sadistic smile. "Are you sure you don't know anything else about Rowhaine's plans?" The voice was taunting and sick; Morturion had asked this question many times before and had gleaned all the information he could from the man. "No!" the man shouted, terrified. "Let me go!" "Oh dear," Morturion responded. "Our guest is unhappy.. Shall we give him more suitable...accommodations?" Nods of assent came from Morturion's pet necromancers. Morturion grinned, and opened a portal into another dimension. "I hope these quarters are satisfactory," he remarked to the man. "No...don't send me there...please..." the mortified man said. An instant later, his soul was ripped out agonisingly, and thrust into a nightmarish prison dimension. "Enjoy your stay" Morturion had said before closing the portal.

Bringing his mind back to the present, Morturion said, "I've decided to help this new Council, but an artefact now and then would be much appreciated for my services."

 

[the hidden one]

Igor stalked into the hall, no cloak this time, as he wanted to participate, now the the real council had begun.

"You must be Rowhaine. I have heard little about you, but watching you fight the fleshwyrm was extraordinary. I am Igor." He finished, never making eye contact, but searching the surrounding room. He said this all in a quiet voice, but even so Rowhaine was sure to hear, while fighting off the affects of both the champion's, and the regent's auras.

 

[The Raven Lord]

Peter stood by the throne with the Carsteins. He wanted the Council members to know that he was respected by their hosts, and carried their seal. It did well to assert one's authority at gatherings of the Lords and Ladies of the Night. Not that Peter felt threatened by most of those gathered near by.

Although the Vampires gathered in the Hall had fed and changed from their blood soaked gear, they still were not the formidable force that had stood in this throne room a decade previous. Where was the mighty warrior Vekarin Banespike? Where was the master general Mircea? And where was the wielder of the Winds of Magic, Lesa? If the threat that the Champion of the Gods had gathered them here for was really as dire has Peter thought, they would struggle to defeat it.

As the Necromancer approached the Throne, Peter had to restrain himself from slaying the wasted mortal where he stood.

"My Lord Necromancer," he said with a low bow, "Ten years ago, my Lady Wife was slain by a Disciple of Nagash such as yourself. Whilst I can tolerate your presence, and appreciate your skill with Necromancy, I would remind you that many in this room did not suffer unbearable hardships and pain, to have terms dictated to them by one such as yourself."

 

[Mello]

"I'm surprised he hasn't learnt yet, considering how much he managed to aggravate us all to the berge of killing him last time." added Alastor amusedly, glancing amusedly at Rowhaine, he thought his description of Mortirion was rather appropriate.

He began staring at the ground, and muttered under his breath.

"Well well, looks like the regents have another pet."

It was quiet enough that only those connected to the Link could feel him say it, not wishing to be hurled across the room like last time, he was still sore.

 

[Kavok]

Kavok stood there bracing himself against the wall as he held his head, feeling as though his head was going to physically split apart at any moment. After what must have been minutes of this, the pain dropped back down to levels that Kavok felt were tolerable enough to move and think again.

'By the lady... Never again. Never trusting what ever method they used to heal me... Not that I really had a choice this time. They did it while I was asleep, but if they try healing me while I'm conscious... Never again...'

Continuing to walk along the halls, Kavok stopped a servant and asked where the others were. Hearing that they were gathering again in the hall where they had fought amongst themselves earlier, Kavok made his way there. He only had to ask for directions twice from the servants along the way.

Walking through the entrance, Kavok looked around the room seeing the people who have gathered thus far. 'Ok... Monster in his corner like before. Important people talking near the thrones. They seem oddly more scarier then the monster in the corner. Hmm... I wonder why that is... The damned necromancer is here causing problems like usual... The two vampire ladies are already here... I didn't manage to thank Nimrais for stitching up my wound earlier and apologize... but I'm not sure if I feel like talking to her or lady Elanor right now... My head hurts, and I've been forced into realizing they are vampires. Why couldn't they just let me continue imagining they weren't monsters of the night.'

'I see that the knight vampire is here already, with the old vampire... Are they related in some way? They seem to stick together quite often. They both seem to be talking with the important vampires, along with the other swordsman that fought beside me for a bit. And then there is the trouble-maker vampire who acts like he is wed to that mask of his. And then there is the group that the one powerful person we waited for fought with. Though they appear to be guarding that lady among them. Hmm... Well I'm fairly certain I saw them bleed, though didn't the vampires bleed some? Hmm... Are they vampires? Probably... Oh well, may as well go and see.'

Kavok walked over to Anya and the Ushabti and gives as courtly a bow as he can manage. Coming back up he cringes slightly and holds his head with a hand. "Oww... Sorry... Headache... Not sure what they gave me while I was unconscious. But ignoring that, Greetings. I don't think we've met. My name is Kavok."

 

[The Dread King]

"Peter von Krahe," Morturion said with little emotion. "Your wife went by the name of Lucia, did she not?" Nagash always kept detailed accounts of his enemies. "I personally did not kill her. You personally did not kill Nagash. But the sides we chose killed those we valued; one might say our score was settled. My terms do not dictate anything, they simply ask for a little which others might not value, or might not have the sense to use." He looked sharply at Krahe. If he has any sense, he'll know I'm talking about him. But he's a lackwit Carstein pawn, can even that be expected of him?

Morturion sighed at Alastor's little comment. "Aggravating someone to the point at which they want to kill you is a bad thing indeed, Alastor." But I will forgive you on this occasion; after all, your tutor is Banespike scum.

 

[Sweeney Todd]

Kenshiro strode into the chamber in pristine robes of saffron, clean of the stench of war and death. His injuries were completely healed and his gauntlets appeared unblemished, such that one could be fooled into thinking he had just emerged from some monastery deep in the mountains. Bowing to the seated Carstein lords as befitted the masters of the house, he turned back to Rowhaine and his retinue. Kenshiro tucked his fist into a cupped hand, a martial greeting in keeping with the character of the Champion of the Nehekharan Gods. He repeated the gesture to Rowhaine's retinue, noticing the sudden addition of a woman amidst their ranks but not treating her any differently than her male counterparts.

"I see you're alive and well, mortal warrior. Good, good." Kenshiro said to the Brettonian knight with a faintly benevolent smile, like one would see on a wooden bodhisvatta. Or perhaps he was simply glad that the gathering of the new Council had finally started in earnest. None could say for sure. It was impossible to miss the commotion Morturion was kicking up again, but Kenshiro chose to turn a blind eye to that for now.

 

[The Raven Lord]

“My Lord Necromancer, I was not aware that your… kind cared for any other than themselves,” continued the Blood Dragon, again with a low bow, “I am sorry to hear of your loss in that war. It was a victory that cost us much.”

Peter was careful to emphasise that he had been on the winning side in that titanic battle. It would do well to remind the petty spell caster of his place.

He thinks me a dullard, though Peter to himself, I will allow him to think that. It always did well to let one underestimate you. Mircea had taught him that. He missed the Lord Marshall’s company, but this Nagashi scum was little match for the Lord of Ravens.

“And I assure you, that any artefacts I find on this campaign will be handed to those whom I trust, to be used for the betterment of Swartzhafen and the Carstein Empire.”

 

[Mello]

Alastor gave Morturion a long amused stare.

"I only see the blind leading the blind on this topic" he murmured.

Sighing again, he resumed to staring at the ground, worrying. Was she safe? Had she arrived properly? Had Reshorn arranged everything as asked?

 

[The Dread King]

"These are not your personal artefacts I'm talking about; they're the ones found by the council as a whole, Krahe." Morturion snapped at the vampire, irked that he had mentioned the victory of the council at Nagashizzar.

Morturion turned to Alastor. While the young fool's words could not be entirely audible, the necromancer got the gist of what he was saying, and angrily retorted, "You say you rebel against society, yet you cower behind a mask to protect yourself from its mockery. You are the hypocrite here, and would do well to remember how much you are tempting fate. If you continue with this...behaviour, I might take a trip to Morr's realm and obtain the souls of those you held dear, to conduct experiments upon. Or maybe," Morturion laughed sinisterly, "I already have them. So you'd best watch your step," Morturion said, voice lowered to a whisper.

 

[Mello]

Alastor's gaze slowly returned to Morturion. For some reason the retort didn't aggravate Alastor at all. He replied, utterly, perhaps unnaturally calm.

"I'm sorry, whatever means so seek to annoy me now hasn't worked, I was merely noting that neither of us have any authority on the subject on keeping peace, evidently." he said, gesturing to the rest of the room who were otherwise engaging in normal conversation. "Maybe lowering you to my level of.. sociability has offended you, which I can assure was an unintended side effect, but one can't escape the truth.

So keep your threats and retorts, and lets just do what we came here for, at least those of us who were actually invited here."

He shook his head in amusement, chuckling, some people were so easy to infuriate.

"Oh, and the souls of those I loved? They died, mortal, I hold no place for them in my heart any more, it does not do to mourn forever" he looked up at the 'regent's pet', peter, with youthful eyes,

"Does it?"

 

[The Raven Lord]

Peter turned to Alastor.

"Perhaps you are right, but sometimes it does to hold on to those memories, lest we lose the last vestiges of our humanity," he replied with a sad smile.

Peter stepped down from the dias, and lent in close to Morturion's ear.

"Any artefacts found by anyone on this Council, are property of the Council," he whispered, his voice laden with venom, "Remember, little wizard, that I fought against your kind, I ripped them limb from limb, and sundered their black souls. I carry the full backing of the Lords von Carstein, and I have been named the Lord Regent's representative in this endeavour."

Peter knew that he was losing his temper, he could feel the white hot rage boiling in his chest. He also knew that he should stop, should rain himself in, but he could not resist terrifying the mortal a little further.

"I have led armies, slain monsters, and marched alongside two masters of my race. I am a son of Harkon, and you would do well to show me respect."

As Peter stepped back onto the dias, he let the Necromancer see his long canines, just to emphasise his point.

 

[Lord_Mortis]

Ezra didn't come through the door. No, doors were for those without image or presentation. She chose an approach that best suited her, that approach was having already been there in the first place.
She waited in the scaffolding above the throne room, watching each member of the council arrive. A few were late or unaccounted for but they would come. Before revealing herself, she would need a voice.

She reached out with her mind, finding three women assembled within the room. She began to go through each of their minds, trying to choose which one would speak for her.

The first she searched seemed to be that of a Lahmian vampiress, whispers clinging to their mind about the arranged people around her and a particular mortal within the room.
The second had an air of dignity and royalty around her, intrigue of the people was in her head as well, not unlike the last mind she reached. 'Very interesting' she thought to herself, remembering at the last moment that that thought would have reached all their minds like the whisper into someone's ear.
She briefly searched the last womans thoughts, it's contents muddled as if it wasn't all there. More than just the woman's thoughts rattled around in there, a part of conciousness spoke to her as she stood.

She chose the first woman to be her voice, this mind seemed to be the least stressed. And besides, she'd only be used for a little while, all Ezra needed was someone to speak for her during this meeting.

Ezra secluded the first woman's mind and sent her thoughts fully into it.
'Good evening, Elanor Rosenberg. At this moment, who I am is not important, all you need know is that I need you to speak for me during this meeting. All you will have to do is speak what I say unless I tell you not to say it. Do you understand this?'