Sorry this is late, but this is my first entry for the Lahar/Lucy week. It doesn't count towards the day one prompt, just my declaration of intent. Day one will count as chapter 2 so look forward to that. My chapters will be late because I'm starting from scratch after the event's began, but I'll try my best to keep some schedule. In the mean-time enjoy!
Standard disclaimer: I own nothing!
Ch. 1 Prologue
Gran Doma looked down his hooked nose at those assembled around him. Select members of the council, as well as representatives of his rune knights stood around the council chambers murmuring amongst themselves. To his left sat his second in command, Master Org. The kind hearted man had sat at the heart of every matter of import for almost as long as himself. Their tenure on the council had aged both men greatly. The constant intrigue and threat of betrayal, (Segrain hardly being the first,) had both men beyond ready for retirement.
Master Org smiled kindly at some report provided by two representatives of their esteemed rune knights. General Lahar and Doranbolt spoke in hushed tones with the elder council man. The atmosphere, while tense, was respectful and in standing with the pretenses of the occasion. How was the council to deal with the rising threat of last prominent dark guild standing?
His beady black eyes traveled over the opaque screen provided by the active archive spell. Blurry images of three mages, their profiles unintelligible, along with speculative statistics regarding their talents and skills taunted his efforts. Very little information was known about their targets. No one could produce a decent picture of the mages, it was as if they were chasing after ghosts, and the few who witnessed their abilities survived the ordeal; leaving first account information scarce. The only thing anyone could state as fact was that they were mages from one secretive dark guild. A former member of the Balam Alliance, Tartaros.
The other guilds involved in the alliance, Oracion Seis and Grimoire Heart, were long gone; defeated in unrelated circumstances by the legal guild Fairytail. Although the guild was considered a 'light guild', it caused more destruction and mayhem than the three dark guilds of the Balam Alliance combined. It became an exercise in morals to differentiate between the property destruction of Fairytail and the threat to innocent lives posed by the dark guilds. It was such a debate within the council concerning the standing of Fairytail, that there was a clear fifty-fifty divide among the members. Half accepted the guild as a productive, albeit quirky, asset to society. The rest were all for just hitting the guild with a concentrated Etherion blast and being done with the whole matter. The only thing stopping the second group from acting was the fact that a number of members were already hit with a blast from the ultimate weapon and walked away virtually unscathed. It didn't behoove them to risk the public backlash of firing the weapon on a populated area when the desired result was far from certain.
Of course it also stood to reason, given the evidence thus far, that it wasn't wise to incur the wrath of the fairies. Should any number survive an attack by the council, Makarov Dreyar had a whole guild of powerhouses to channel his vengeance through. Gran Doma had enough on his plate without poking at that nest of hornets.
Fairytail aside, with the other two dark guilds wiped out, there was a noticeable power vacuum. It was rumored that surviving members of the other two guilds, those not incarcerated, had turned to Tartaros for aid and were quickly and violently turned away. This situation made Gran Doma's long grey beard twitch with unease.
He ran his fingers through the long facial locks in thought. There was something they were missing. Some pertinent tidbit that would bring to light the motives of the prominent evil guild. There were too many variables and things weren't adding up, hence he called this emergency meeting of his senior council and relevant representatives. Tartaros was getting ready to make a move, and it was up to the council to be ready.
Just as he was about to call the meeting back into session, muffled shouting was heard from outside the closed doors to the hallowed halls. A sense of unease settled throughout the room as faint booms were heard, followed by tremors that had a dusting of debris falling loose from the ceiling.
Just then a green member of the frog race burst through the entrance into the hall. His stately blue and white robes billowing about his frame as he frantically tried to croak out a warning to the men and women presently staring at him in horror. He got little farther than "I'm sorry…" before a blinding white light erupted from his chest cavity. Less than a heartbeat later, the frog man's chest exploded outwards, showering those present in gruesome gore and filth. The now lifeless body crumbled in a heap at the entrance, his frantic attempt to warn the council of the impending danger rendered unnecessary. The culprit walked casually into the now silent hall, stepping around the dead body without even a glance.
The newcomer was of average height and build with blond hair barely passed his jawline. He had a pair of animalistic ears perched on top of his head, golden cat-like eyes, and sharp canines peeking past his sneer. The combination served to make his look every bit the wild beast.
"Well, well now," he taunted, "why am I never invited to these parties?" Those present in the hall tensed and prepared for the man to attack. With his arms spread wide as if in greeting, the stranger continued to walk into to room.
"You know it's kinda dull in here," he continued. "Let's liven it up with a bang!"
With that an ominous rune circle opened up beneath his feet, growing impossibly in diameter until it covered the entirety of the floor the council stood upon. Almost before anyone in the room could comprehend what was happening and prepare for it, the hall erupted in white hot heat.
"Remember the name of Jackal when you burn in hell!"
...Line break...
Doranbolt coughed harshly trying to clear his airways of the harsh smoke and debris he accidentally inhaled with each breath. Slowly, and with great effort, he lifted himself into a crawling position. His arms shook with the strain of his weight as he sat back to settle himself on the balls of his feet. He looked around silently taking stock of the destruction around him.
A warm breeze traveled unhindered through what used to be the inaccessible private meeting chambers of the esteemed magic council, now a leveled space completely exposed. Stately pillars that once held the lofty seats of individual members now lay toppled and broken, lost within the rubble of justice and order. Doranbolt's heart dropped to his toes when he spied caught on a familiar set of optical lenses crushed next to a prone figure half buried beneath a pile of rubble. With a cry on anguish, the direct-line mage teleported to the prone body of his superior.
"Oh Mavis no, Lahar!" Doranbolt grasped his superior's shoulders and began shaking him in an attempt to gain a reaction. When none was forthcoming, he lowered his head to the other man's chest. He held his breath waiting for some sign of life: a heartbeat, a breath, anything. With every second that passed without anything, Doranbolt's hope dwindled further and further until it was nothing but a writhing mass of despair.
Movement to his right caught his attention. Doranbolt's head whipped around and his gaze locked onto an overlooked crumpled figure attempting to rise. Before the man could even begin to get his hands beneath his body, another figure appeared. This man had no sign of scratch or trauma related to being a victim of the destruction around them. He looked around disinterestedly before settling his gaze on the pitiful man beneath him.
"Oh now, it looks like you didn't die!" The man's, now recognized as Jackal, eyes gleamed maliciously with unrestrained malice as they bore into the prone form of the victim beneath his gaze. With a groan the fallen man was able to life his head and locked one bleary eye with Doranbolt. Time seemed to stop for the scarred mage as the identity of the poor soul hit him like a sledge hammer. "Org run!"
Doranbolt desperately tried to will the elderly council member enough strength to escape Jackal standing over his battered body, but to no avail. With a dark chuckle he reached one clawed arm down to grasp the bald cranium of Org. A cry of pain left his cracked lips as Jackal began to taunt and threaten his prey. The direct-line mage's limbs refused to function even as Org pled with him to escape the villain.
Doranbolt had every intention of remaining at Org's side even in death until a slight movement in his peripheral caught his attention. It was minute, almost non-existent, but it was there. A slight trembling rise of Lahar's chest. It became clear what path needed to be taken. As the whole area shook from a fresh wave of explosions; the direct line mage was already speeding away with his precious, fragile, cargo.
"I'm sorry!" he prayed as he fled the blasts that ended the life of the old council member. Tears betrayed him as they escaped his eyes, but he ignored them. His gaze was determined and focused as he made for the one place he could think of that could save Lahar, Fairytail.
...Line Break...
Well the prologue's done and out of the way. ^_^ Now I'll get started writing the rest of the prompts. Day one is about halfway completed, and I know what I want to do story-wise, so I'll get started right on that, so please be patient, and let me know what you think. Also I'll try to make the rest of the chapters longer.
Don't forget to r & f