DISCLAIMER: Oh for God's sake, I don't own the newsies! Let's make this easy, though. I only own Runner Conlon, Morning Dew, River, Malakai, Micah, Jeshua, Ahdi, Neeko, and Father Romanik. ^_^ Newsies are owned by Disney; everyone else owns themselves. Oh, and the song lyrics featured in some chapters don't belong to me but rather are the property of various artists.
~*ETERNAL AVENGER*~
Chapter Three: The Decadal Meeting
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Bordeaux, France; The late 1400's
Daemon ponit fraudes - Dae', Dae' - inter laudes, cantus, saltus. Allicit cor honoribus. Daemon dat cor Jesu minus aestimat. Caro venatur sensibus; sensus ad haeret dapibus; inescatur, impinguatur, dilatatur. Ad de mundorum milia, milena gaudia; Quid amabile Totum dat, cor Jesu…
Ever flourishing in the undying lands of the Elven people of Naphthalene were three lilies of the valley, each with a graceful individuality and quality that alleviated all inner pains and made one feel once again a part of life's progressing cycles. Three sisters; a certain trinity they formed when they set aside their differences and worked together cooperatively. But just days before the decadal meeting, such collaboration was a thing gone obsolete in the realms of their world. Preparations were being made for the coming of the Zion Sect of Seekers and the castle courts were far from being ready for the ceremonial traditions that would follow the scribes' arrival. Naturally, the royal family was in a ruckus against one another.
Lord Raeb stroked the stubs of grey hair making up his beard as he sat upon his throne, his frame erect and his hands strongly gripping the arms of the beautifully upholstered chair. He was a well-built man, whose sparkling blue eyes painted the hundreds of summers he had seen in one glance. His robes were of the colors of the clan, forest green and silver, and he donned the crest of his forefathers on one sleeve and the kingdom's coat of arms on the other. His youngest and only son sat at his feet, playing with hand-carved battle figurines made from ivory. The boy was no more than ten years of age and looked nothing of his father, for his eyes were of a darker nature and darted to and fro as if constantly curious about even the smallest things about him. His features were soft, as a child's should be, and he looked more the part of a pauper than any prince of Naphthalene.
"Les, my boy," spoke the king in a soft voice that contradicted his dominancy. "When I pass from the mortal coils of this world, you will be named lord of all, and yet you recline onto the floor and play with your armies like the common child. Ah, how time betrays us all. Once upon a time, I was much like you…but manhood has forced me to shelve such childish things…" His face was reminiscent of the memories his soul yearned for and he let out a sigh as if to relieve himself of them.
"Father, is it true what the minstrels say?" Les rose to his feet, his innocence now masked with concern. Too often had the stories of the court jesters become real to him, so that at night when he was alone in his chambers, the shadows framing his window evolved into the monsters that haunted his nightmares. It couldn't be true though, could it? The glory of his people was too great to be dampened by the evils of other immortals. Still, he wondered.
"What do they say, my son?"
Les came closer and rested one hand upon his father's arm, those powerful arms that had held him as a baby and had protected him from the wrongs of society. Now, he looked for security within those arms once more. "That a new age is rising. That the time for evil has come and…"
"Ah, such foolish musings, Les," said the king with a light laugh. He ruffled his son's hair and caressed the boy's cheek warmly. "You needn't worry yourself over matters like…"
"But father, everyone in the courts is talking about it! Vampires, they say! Vampires are steadily becoming the master race within the immortal community and they plan to seize top ranking from the Elven people! They will hunt in the nights, the moon their only friend. They will sneak into every habitat, whether shack or palace, and steal the lives of all. They're forging special talismans, father, so that even we don't stand a chance against their hatred! The time for evil has entered our world."
Lord Raeb watched his son spill the words in a torrent, bewildered by the child's knowledge. He had known of the vampires and their supposed intentions. He had listened well to the tales of the traveling minstrels and gypsies. But never in his heart had he believed his son would fall to the fear plaguing immortals across the globe at the prospect of being the new prey for vampires. He took Les' hand in his own and squeezed the boy's fingers reassuringly. "The time for evil was always in our world, my son. It was a sleeping giant…only now awakened by malice…"
Across the halls, the door to the throne room flung open and in strode two of the three sisters considered the gems of Naphthalene. Both with long golden hair that streamed down their backs like banners of sunrays and gorgeous blue eyes like that of their father's, the only difference between them was a four-inch matter of height displaying their age difference. The reserved lady Lorein and her younger sister Lookout walked side by side toward their father, the former garbed in a silver dress, the latter in the apparel of a commoner. The speed of their gait made evident whatever pressing matter worried them and when they had finally reached the throne, they came to a sudden halt and looked at the king pleadingly.
"Father, would you please tell your youngest daughter of the need to dress appropriately for tonight's guests?" Lorein held out a hand toward her sister, nose crinkled in disgust. She had an inclination to take things rather seriously, and this would not be an exemption. To have Seekers dining in one's abode was considered an eminent honor, and Lorein would not see such honor tarnished by the tenacity of her sibling's tomboyish ways.
Lookout rolled her eyes at the remonstration. "Father, this is ridiculous. I promised the stable boys I would help them groom the horses today! There's no reason for me to wear a gown if it'll only become dirty."
Lorein looked at her, incredulously. "Groom the horses!"
"It's far more enjoyable than sitting in front of my vanity all day grooming myself!"
"I suppose that's why you have yet to obtain suitors of your own!"
"Silence!" Lord Raeb's order was a loud boom that shocked all three children gathered before him. His facial features were creased with impatience and he rose from his rightful seat in a quick motion. "Enough of this, you both sound like schoolgirls fighting over a doll! Lookout, as much as I love to encourage your pursuit of freedom from the confines of the nobility, I must side with your sister on this matter. The guests we will accommodate tonight are the same scribes who will be writing your history when you come of age. Not a single detail goes unnoticed by them."
Lorein nodded in satisfaction, knowing her father would see the graveness of the situation. She glanced down at her younger sister and shrugged when the girl pouted at her. In all honesty, she ached for the same freedom as did her sister, and it wasn't at all her desire to win some petty argument this day when she had brought her complaints to the king. She loved her family dearly, but sometimes people had to be reminded of the offices they held in a kingdom. "Very well. Come Lookout, let us work on that hair of yours…" She grabbed a handful of the girl's golden locks and sighed at the tangles she would have to comb through.
The younger groaned at the notion of being tidied up and turned to face her father. "When this is all over, have I the permission to return to the fields?" The man nodded and she beamed with excitement. "Great, and Lorein, you can return to your archery as well!"
Lord Raeb's gaze swiftly snapped to fall upon Lorein. "Archery?" She hesitated under his scrutiny while struggling for an answer that would cover up the truth of her favorite pastime hobby, but she didn't have to think any further for at that moment, the loud blaring trumpets of the acolytes lifted into the air to signal the coming of an honorable individual. "What is this? It's only noon…they couldn't have possibly arrived already…"
Through the already open doors of the throne room, a train of nobles and servants streamed in excitedly, all eyes glued onto the individual at the front of the fellowship. He was a young man in a robe of royal blue, a distinct gown that very much resembled those used by cathedral choirs or altar boys. It brought out the oceanic shades of his eyes and made lighter the happiness his lips presently conveyed as they smiled at the young woman on his left.
She was the eldest of Lord Raeb's children and the first gem of Naphthalene. Her features were carved in the beautiful delicacy of Elven maids and she more so resembled her brother Les than any of her other siblings. Long, chocolate hair done up in a bun with curly ringlets framing her face and almond-shaped eyes warm with delight, she looked like a bride on her wedding day as she casually walked along in a white gown onto which was embedded silver stones. Full of life, forever optimistic, and always smiling, her name was Lyf and it was apparent why her existence was so cherished by her people.
The king came forward and met the two halfway down the red velvet carpeting of the floor. He extended his hands to the young man and embraced him cordially before stepping back and smiling pridefully. "I see you've already met my eldest daughter, River. In case you weren't aware, she still awaits a suitor…"
"Father!" Lyf's cheeks flushed to a dark shade of red.
River's smiled widened at this and having gently taken her hand, he raised it to his lips and placed a tender kiss just above her knuckles. "And quite the beauty she is, sire. But I would make her a miserable wife, for the life of a Seeker leaves very little room for personal relationships." The small group of nobles gathered laughed at his confession, applauding lightly at the words. Following this, the king proceeded to introduce River to his other three children and afterwards called for a chamberlain to give him the updates on dinner and such. He was fully enthralled by being visited by a Seeker, but he had been preparing for a lower-ranking one, not the First Seeker of the Zion Sect of the Gatherer Society! Hopefully, Lyf would entertain the young man long enough to properly arrange a feast fit for such tribute.
"Come now, River. My children shall give you a tour of the palace whilst I tend to kingly duties. At evening we shall dine and celebrate your presence together!" He shook hands with the Seeker once more and then exited out the throne room, shooing the other nobles away as he went out.
River smiled at Lyf. "Besides, your heart belongs to another…"
"What?" The tone of her voice was sensitive, but even the softest of words couldn't mask the surprise in her voice.
"Your heart," the Seeker explained. "You've already given it to someone. A halfblood. The vast differences between the both of you, though, have recently made you uncertain about the relationship. And so you play your father's game and allow him to shove eligible princes to you."
"How…how do you know all this?"
He met her eyes with his own and felt his heartbeat quicken simply by being this close to her. Everything about the maiden…her silky hair, her peaceful face, even the pointed ears that were characteristics of her kind…they made him jealous of the one to whom her love had been given. He felt an urge to kiss her, then, but her three siblings were yet in the room and he wouldn't betray chivalry to appease his emotions. "I can recite the histories of countless world empires from memory…and you're shocked by my knowledge of simple love affairs?" The statement was a bit scathing, but when he smiled he made it known there was no harm meant.
Les and Lookout diverted their attention elsewhere. Still young, love had yet to beckon their hearts. Relationships didn't interest them, nor did sappy dialogues between two Romantics. And so they began kicking up a conversation about the vampires in hushed whispers. Lorein, on the other hand, was spellbound to River and his sweet treatment of her sister. Time remained still all about her; even the damask draperies of the windows cascading in folds were like frozen waterfalls. She wanted to be loved as was Lyf, but she was torn between the duties of a woman and the pleasures of a child. She would meander through the castle courts in magnificently designed gowns like a coquette, of course, but when she was sure there was no audience, she would pass herself off as a man in slacks and tunic with hair hidden under a hat and would take for the fields to practice her archery.
A man like River, however, was someone she'd renounce those activities for in a pulse beat. And that was saying a lot, for unbeknownst to her very father, she had master skills with a long bow and arrow. Training since childhood, she had reached near perfection. Yet to be River's lover…she would retire from it all. He was revered across the world for his acclaimed histories and knowledge of the times even before Christ, making him one of the top sources for new scribes within the Society. His intelligence was unmistakable and even amidst so much praise, he was as humble as a child with a carefree nature that at once deemed him an individual with whom others could easily get along.
Lost in her thoughts, she wasn't aware of the fact that she was staring at him until he attempted to talk to her twice and not receiving an answer, had resulted to waving a hand in front of her face. She started at the action and then blushed profusely. "Forgive me," she whispered, bowing her head in apology to escape the ridicule of his eyes.
But the ridicule was only imagined, for he soon after raised her chin up with a thumb and smiled. "There's nothing to forgive, milady. And there's no need for you to keep such beautiful eyes downcast. The world is ahead of you; look it in the face and see how different it'll treat you." She only nodded, not knowing what to say.
Dinner was quite the fine meal. The Naphthalene chefs knew their trade well and had served up an array of tasty dishes, appetizers, and drink. River suspected there was enough food on the table before him to feed his entire Society; he didn't know why Lord Raeb had insisted on such a welcoming party, but he wouldn't be one to complain. He took a few sips of the zinfandel in his wine glass and then continued feasting on his veal with salacious desire.
"So River, do tell us of your travels. How is it that the Society had the audacity to send you out on your lonesome, knowing full well the dangers of traveling in solitary?" The king signaled to his servant to pour him more wine and then raised the glass in toast to the Seeker. The others followed suit and offered their cheers as well.
"Thank you," River replied to the action with a gracious nod. "As a matter of fact, I requested to come here on my own. I needed time to reflect on certain matters…as the old saying goes, only through solitude may one find enlightenment."
"Did you meet any vampires on your way here?" The inquiry had been blurted out by an over-excited Les, and the table fell silent at the mention of the undead.
River fidgeted with the tassel ends of the cloth napkin upon his lap. The question had been like icy water thrown into his face on a pleasurable summer's day. He had expected to speak with the king privately on the subject of vampires, but now twenty pairs of eyes stared at him in expectancy. He combed back his fallen strands of brown hair and struggled for a response. The king was busy scolding his son, but River stood to his feet to end the chastisement and begin delivering the message he was forced to bear.
"The people of Naphthalene are in danger." Horrified whispers rose and fell among those seated at the table but they instantly died down when River spoke again. "The rumors are true. Spot Conlon, Jack Kelly, and Darrien 'Combat' Bailey have signed a treaty and have merged into one great alliance. In 1367, I was assigned to chronicle the life of one Lucas Conlon, better known as the halfblood called Runner by his brood. Runner was next in line to inherit the Conlon Dynasty, but his conscience one day got the better of him and he turned his back on evil long ago. Now he leads other halfbloods, the outcasts amongst immortals, to acquire equality. But equality is something Spot and company don't care much for.
"According to recent documents obtained by a Seeker in my sect, the three main purebred vampires have together written their proposals for an Age of Darkness to befall our world. Beginning with the elimination of halfbloods, they will then rid the world of mortal kind. With every passing day, the sun's power wanes, and it is their belief that there'll come a time when humanity will bring darkness upon itself. When this time approaches, their next obstacle will be Elven kind; for millennia they've envied your superiority in all things. Following this purge will be the removal of slayers, Elementals, healers, mages, and any other immortal not on their side. It will be a bloodbath no doubt, and it will see no end."
An eternity seemed to pass as the morbid words fell upon the ears of the elves. At last, Lord Raeb looked up and tried to draw up strength from his weakening source. His eyes were almost mournful as he asked his question of River. "What must we do to stop this?"
River's gaze never once left the king. He swallowed back his fear for the kindly man and gripped the chair in front of him for support. "The only thing you can do. Attend the decadal meeting, and present your arguments to Aerenthal."
~*~*~*~*~*~
An ominous night in late October marked the date of the decadal meeting so many were dreading to attend. Blood-red leaves fell from the oaks just outside the colossal theatre where the conference would be held, blanketing the walks with their frail but menacing forms. It was almost as if a sea of bitter sanguine had washed upon the world of the everlasting, and each immortal who walked upon those leaves that night couldn't help but come to grips with the forthcoming horror that awaited them once they entered into the theatre.
Inside the stone walls of the building, those gathered were greeted with less foreboding surroundings. The theatre's house, where on performance nights sat the audiences, was massive. Its maximum occupancy could be averaged at several thousands, counting the red-velvet seats on both the ground and balcony levels. Chandeliers hung down from the domed ceiling, only half their candles lighted to give off a dimmed illumination as was most acceptable by the majority. In the fellowship hall of the theatre was set up a table upon which were set pastries and other baked goods, not to mention decanters of blood courtesy of some vampire delinquent who would be the first to add fuel to an already raging fire. Taking the red liquid to be wine, many immortals had taken a swig of the decanters' contents…only to yell in horror when the familiar taste of blood greeted their tongues.
Needless to say, the vampire community was avoided as much as possible for the rest of the night. This was, however, a most difficult task, for the undead occupied close to a sixth of the theatre's seating, so great were the numbers in their party. The section graced with their presence was on ground level by special request and filled up the entire area on the theatre's right, as one just entering the building would see it. During the hour preceding the beginning ceremony of the meeting, they made such deafening noise with their perverse jokes and raspy laughter that thrice had they been asked by one of the elders to quiet down; the requests had gone unheeded.
Among the vampiric ranks was familiar sight Combat with his two new allies, Spot and Jack. The three were standing at the front of their section, sneering across the way at the hybrids and challenging the Elven kind seated in the balcony with foul gestures. Only then remembering something, Combat discontinued the game and turned to face his companions. "Hey, gents, you wouldn't believe what one of my fledglings did while he was yet waiting for the theatre doors to open at dusk…" He whistled to a young man seated three rows back and the other obeyed instantly, rising to his feet and coming to his master at once. Combat threw an arm over his shoulders and grinned. "Allow me to introduce you to the most notorious thief within my brood. We rightfully call him Snitch. Let him have the honor of showing you the prize he pinched off our rivals…"
With a pat on the back, Snitch was encouraged to reveal that which he had stolen hours before, and encouragement was something he definitely needed. As much as Combat adored his thievery dexterity and skills, he still very much feared the sire. His large hazel eyes looked from Combat to the other two, and back to Combat again with nervous apprehension. He was a lean fellow, with lanky arms and legs and a face that still maintained its baby fat. His hair fell in thick brown locks under the sackcloth hat he wore, adding as much youth to him as did his large front teeth, which almost were lengthier than his canines. Reaching to the back pocket of his worn slacks, he brought into the light a newly-folded piece of parchment and began opening it to its full dimensions for all to behold.
"These are the point of debates Lord Raeb and his Elven people were going to present to Aerenthal. There's only three…as you can see…"
Spot eye's shone with excitement at being given extra leverage against his enemies. He snatched the parchment from the young man and tightened his grip on its edges, reading the lines of the arguments numerous times over until the words had been imprinted into his memory. "Ha, this only further proves to me the weakness of Naphthalene's power these days. A child could come up with better proposals!" He gave the paper to Jack and then took a moment to consider things. Before the debate began, he would have to formulate arguments that would annihilate Lord Raeb's foolish beliefs. His eyes fixated on Combat. "Have you read this excrement?"
"I have," the lord manor answered with an inane smile. "I must say, we shan't have any problems seizing power."
Jack folded the paper twice and looked past the two at an approaching figure. "Here comes trouble…"
Dressed in her finest gown and cloak yet, Onyx DeFelice came ambling down the carpeted aisles of the theatre, a fan in one hand and the other clenched in a fist. Her hair was loose and streamed down her back in elegant waves, and her reddened lips were drawn into a straight line as she neared Combat and his camaraderie of fools. "Is what I hear true?" she hissed at him in a sharp whisper, grabbing his arm and turning him about to face her. "Is this nonsense of you signing a treaty with those idiots true? And when were you going to tell me?"
"I wasn't aware that I needed to obtain your permission, milady," the lord replied with a casual air that bordered indifference.
Onyx addressed Snitch next. "Did you know of this as well? Does everyone in our entire brood know for sure but me?" Before he could answer, she transferred her anger back to Combat. "Do you not realize what you've done? You've tied yourself to a treacherous dragon and there's no…"
He grabbed her face in one hand and squeezed his grip to silence her. His eyes were darkening with seriousness as he spoke to her. "I don't need the exasperating chirps of a fledgling to ever sound in my ears. I am your master, and you will honor me the way you are required to. If you've forgotten what power I hold over you, I'd be more than happy to give you a private demonstration in your quarters tonight." His grin was sinister, but its end soon dropped into a maddened expression when she broke free of his grasp and spat onto his face.
"Obnoxious swine," she threw at him. "I'd rather sell myself to the low lives than find myself in the same bed with you." She didn't flinch when he had brought a hand up to slap her, nor did she smile in victory when he decided against the public abuse and had lowered it. "If it's surprises you like, milord," she said, each word dripping with contempt, "let me acquaint you with my newest slave. A Polish boy. I'm quite sure you may recognize him…" She stepped aside and pulled someone who had been standing behind her into the center of attention.
Combat's eyes flashed with warning, but he masked his shock with ease by placing a smile on his face. "Well, well, well. I never thought I'd see the likes of you again, Slick. So how's serfdom been treating you as of late?"
Slick was inwardly shaking. A few weeks ago, he would've told any who listened that the vampiric race was merely a fable, and that all who believed in its existence were blasphemers bound to see hell's gates. But his life had seemed to take a complete 180 degree turn, for now he was the servant to a vampiress and presently stood face to face with three revered and fearsome lords of demonic traits. "You…you…I'll k-kill you for this you confounded monster!" He lunged forward to attack Combat, but the vampire had only to step back and the boy fell face down onto the flooring.
"Kill me for what? Because you've recently found out you were a blasted halfblood? And whose fault is that, if not your very mother and father?" He grabbed Slick by the hair and raised him onto his feet effortlessly. "Didn't you know, my boy, that your father was of the undead and your mother a mere mortal? If there's anyone to whom fault is owed, it's your own damned family, you diseased street rat." He shoved the boy away from him, sending Slick tumbling yards away until he crashed into a row of seats and earned himself a collection of bruises. Combat spat onto the ground and considered the case closed.
Onyx was teeming with rage. She helped Slick to his feet, sent one last glare to her sire, and then headed off to the section reserved for the halfbloods, which was strangely enough at the center of the theatre where all could behold and perhaps ridicule them.
Ridicule was expected, of course, for the halfbloods were having problems of their own. For starters, Runner had only just that day received from several of his followers the arguments they wanted him to voice once Aerenthal made open the discussion. And so the young leader was busily skimming over each piece of vellum, scribbling down the central ideas from every single one.
Aside from this, Gypsy and Hades had begun to turn on Kitten, accusing her of a crime they hadn't even the evidence to back up, save for an espied conversation the girl had had with the purebloods. "You were with Spot at dusk," Hades snapped, the tone of her voice darker than even the black outfit she donned. "What of that?"
"Giving away our secrets to the enemy, no doubt," answered Gypsy as she approached the young woman from behind. "So not only are you a whore, you're a dirty mongrel too. And what's worse, a traitor!"
Kitten shook her head vehemently. "Your tongues are quicker than your thoughts. If I wanted to congregate with Spot, I would've lapped the blood from his wrist by now. Why would I waste my time accompanying the lot of you on your constant quests to correct society's wrongs? And besides, it was I who convinced Onyx to join our ranks!" But that wasn't enough for the other two, and in the end, they had driven Kitten away and had sent her marching angrily through the cities of France while the meeting carried on.
From where he sat, Runner frowned. He had heard the whole conversation and it disheartened him to a certain extent, but he decided it was something to be dealt with at a later time. He continued writing. Bumlets was at his side, double-checking their proposals with the perfectionism of a fanatical linguist, underlining what needed to be re-worded and asking his leader every few minutes why was it they were even bothering including the arguments of everyone and their mother. It wasn't until they were two-thirds of the way through the work that a shadow fell upon them.
"Who is the one called Runner Conlon here?"
Runner looked up, surprised to see the Elven lord of Naphthalene before him. "Your highness, that would be me."
Lord Raeb sighed and rested his hands on his hips. It almost appeared as if he was musing over a way to rid himself of the burdens that had steadily collected onto his shoulders. "Master Runner, I've heard of the great things you've done for your people, of the honor you denied the Conlon Dynasty when you relinquished your rightful throne. I wanted you to know that you have the elves' backing in all things. We shall rid our world of this darkness…together…" Giving a slight nod, he left without another word.
Runner arched an eyebrow at this, but wouldn't focus too hard on the ordeal, especially when he had no idea what the elves were planning on gaining from this. Especially when the Elementals and Seekers were beginning to file into the building. The crowds fell to a light hush as three of the four Elementals took their seats at stage right; a child of Fire had yet to be found and so the trio would have to do. The Seekers would take up the left section of the theatre. There were seven sects of historians, one for each continent, and 13 members within each sect. Nine additional Seekers known as the Elders made the entire Gatherer Society even at 100 members.
The flags of the Immortal Confederacy were let down, each massive cloth bearing the insignia of the silver eagle that had come to symbolize eternity. "All rise in honor of his eminence, the venerated Aerenthal Conrad." The words echoed throughout the building and following them came a procession of trumpeters, behind which strode the elven lord who had been the topic of world-wide conversations all year long. Aerenthal Conrad. He was worshipped like a pagan god, the office he held above all others within the immortal community. It was to him absolute power would be given had the Confederacy not adopted democratic procedures, and because of this, his underlings tended to paint him up to be some omniscient and almighty emperor with final say in all things.
Aerenthal was the most beautiful among the immortals, as well. His features even more arresting than the sexual appeal the vampires gave off. He was tall and strong, broad shoulders and a well-built chest hidden under the robes he wore. He moved as if it took no endeavor at all, his steps no more than a glide across the floor. Voluminous hair of a golden shade fell past his shoulders perfectly, framing a face that was at once proud and imperial. Green eyes more depthless than a chasm to the earth's center and lashes casting shadows onto his cheeks, if he took pride in his renowned position, his expression didn't show it.
He walked onto the stage by means of a richly decorated staircase, growing more annoyed with each step. In all honesty, he didn't want to be present this night, giving ear to the myriads of disputes that would rise between the vampires and those whom they despised. Why couldn't these meetings be held not every ten years, but every fifty? He'd even vouch for a 'once a century' conference, but the elders wouldn't have anything of the sort. He plopped down onto his would-be throne set on stage in front of the thousands of immortals who had made an appearance and nodded in gratitude for their having stood up in reverence. He noticed only then that not a single individual from the vampire section had arisen to their feet; he brushed the matter aside and officially announced that the decadal meeting was now in session.
Aerenthal spent the first few hours of the meeting sleeping with his eyes open. Only thirty minutes into the Elder Seekers' readings of current events and highlights of the past ten years and he had already gone brain dead. He didn't understand why the scribes simply didn't create some sort of newsletter to be sent out annually; there sure were enough of them to make copying the news by hand a light task. When an active mental state had returned to him, he busied himself with doodling on the pieces of parchment at his desk, and when that became tedious, he began writing love letters to the concubines he had befriended during his stay in France. He swore he was about to drop dead from boredom just as the Seekers announced their business complete. Aerenthal would bet his life that every immortal in the building was inwardly celebrating the news, too.
"Very well, then," the elf lord said, cutting the words short as to not waste any further time. "According to my notes, there is only one thing left on my agenda. In simple dictation, it reads: Concerning Spot Conlon's desire to have his alliance with Jack Kelly and Combat Bailey officially recognized. If there are any wishing to speak on this affair, please stand to your feet." There wasn't a single immortal who remained seated. All shouting at once to be heard, all waving their hands wildly to be seen, the theatre rumbled with the dissonance of the masses.
Aerenthal cursed in his native tongue. It was going to be a long night. He walked to the stage's edge and signaled to everyone to cease in their noise-making. "I can't hear all of you at once," he said, feeling as if he were speaking to children. "Nor do I have the wish to hear all of you at once. As we've done for millennia, each group must elect a spokesperson if they wish to be heard." The riot smoothed out in a rapid decrescendo as only a few hands remained risen. "Excellent. Lord Raeb speaking for the Elven kind, please tell us where you stand on this matter."
The king was anxious to do just that and he turned to his esquire for the notes he had written especially for tonight, but the young boy couldn't find the notes anywhere in his pockets as he frantically searched for them. On the ground level, Combat exchanged knowing grins with his allies and then continued to watch the ridiculous display. At last, Lord Raeb waved his hand at the boy and decided to make his speech extemporaneous. "Spot Conlon does the works of a devil, if he's not the devil incarnate himself!"
"And Lord Raeb," countered a very nonchalant Spot now seated, "does the works of a cowardly king who hides behind the profound beauty of his daughters. Were I the devil incarnate, I'd surely reserve hell's finest inferno for you, elf." Further chaos ensued. From the balcony, the elves shook their fists in the utmost frustration while the vampires below snarled and snapped their teeth in response.
"Enough!" came Aerenthal's shout. He was already wishing the meeting would find its end. "This is not a fighting rink in which I'll allow this senseless trade of insults here and there. Don't think I'll refuse the elders the sole power to decide the matter among themselves. We've many times resulted to the procedure in the past."
"I've only one question," uttered an elderly woman from the section where spell casters were gathered. "What exactly do the vampire lords intend on achieving through this alliance?"
To answer this, none other than ring leader Spot Conlon arose and sauntered to the area just in front of the stage where he could address the entire Confederacy, especially the halfbloods glaring at him from their central location. He clasped his hands behind his back and held his chin high in the air, as if the smell of the hybrid disgusted him. He wore attire fit for a prince, the most prominent accessory he wore was a silver chain onto which an inverted cross was hung. Its large silver frame glared at his enemies, reminding him of the evil from which he had been born.
"This alliance," he began, "is nothing less than an outward demonstration of the extremes my fellow vampiric kin will attend to should you fools continue to oppress us. This rubbish you call a Confederacy is a frail backbone that would snap within my hands had I the desire to crush it. You all speak of changing the world, but you're too gutless to put a vision past yourself. Well, we've swam in the shallow end of the dream pool for far too long. Tonight, whether you accept this alliance or not, we begin creating a new world order.
"The world has always been our playground, and I won't tolerate the mortal race from stealing that luxury from us. The time has come for another age…a dark age. And that's just what we intend on serving you on plates made of human skulls. Honor! Pride! True Immortality! The Conlon Dynasty only rids the world of that which drags us down." His eyes were electrifying with unadulterated revulsion. "And what exactly drags us down? Hypocrites, Cowards, Fools…" His burning glare rested onto his very cousin and fully enraged, he pointed a finger straight ahead of him and shouted the next words. "And the filthy mongrels of this damned Confederacy!" The purebloods cheered him on, roaring with approval and clapping their hands in a loud thunder. The halfbloods, on the other hand, immediately jumped to their own defense.
"If there's one thing that taints the name of every honorable thing this Confederacy upholds, it's the bloody curse of vamps across the globe!" And silence fell once again, for it had been a bold retort. It had come from Runner's mouth. He was standing now, and had walked out onto the aisle to near his cousin; the two Conlon's were face to face in challenge.
"Just because you're halfblood," the elder said as calmly as his current temper allowed, "doesn't mean you can shorten the name of our race to that insult of a syllable."
"I'll do as I please," Runner snapped back. "Especially if I think you're half the immortal you should be."
Spot seized him by the front of his tunic and slammed him against the structure of the stage, trying to drill the halfblood's body through the tons of brick and mortar. And when that didn't work, he bared his teeth in a snarl and began sending blows across Runner's face with reckless abandon. He would kill the confounded mongrel with his bare hands! But by orders of Aerenthal, Combat and Jack-along with quite a number of other vampires-wrenched their leader away from the halfblood only in time to prevent a fractured skull, for Runner's face was already drenched in blood.
Runner wiped the trails of red off him, as to not draw attraction to him from the hundreds of vampires around, but he knew the smell of open wounds had already contaminated the atmosphere. He staggered back, supported by the arms of Bumlets and more, and watched as Spot broke free from his restraints and came marching back to him.
"Is it a challenge you want, cousin?" Spot inquired with a dangerous tone in his voice. "Is it? So bold are your words but where's the action to back them up?" Moments bursting with tension passed as the two stared each other down. Finally, it was Runner who diverted his gaze to the floor, wordlessly declining the challenge Spot had presented. "That's what I thought. You're clever, I must say. A guttersnipe has no place challenging one of pure blood."
Runner kept his eyes on the floor. Humiliated to the grandest degree, he shoved his own companions away and stormed out the theatre, not caring what demons the Confederacy would give birth to that night.
~*~*~*~*~*~
@-}--- Until next time~
A big thanks to: Cerridwen4, Sapphy, Raven, ember, Tooey, Tiger17, Onyx, Dreamer110, Chipper, geometrygal, Lyf, SmartassLeprechaun, and Fantasy3! I love reading your comments so much; they make me happy. ^_^ Please keep them rolling in! In Chapter 5, I'll start writing out my shout-outs. Heehee. But in any case, one more chapter set in past times and then it's to the 1900's we go, which means the majority of you will start making your appearances. YaY! Anywho, hoped you enjoyed this chapter. Please throw me a bone, and see ya next time!