Portia walked down the long corridor of the Conclave Palace, once the home of the Wizard’s Council. Bright shards of sunlight cast false walls of orange before her, highlighting the particles of dust as they slowly floated up to the polished marble flags. Ornamental suits of armor stood proudly to attention on raised pedestals between the long windows. The empty helms were unmoving, captured within a moment of time and held in an eternal salute. Great portraits of the previous Wizards’ Council and its members lined the opposite wall, opulent palettes of color removing any hint of flaws from the grizzled old men.
“I thought I’d ordered these to be removed?” Portia protested, her steel shod heels clipping a brisk staccato across the floor.
“You did Lady, I will ensure it is done before the day is out,” Craniax groveled behind her, the stoop in his back making it difficult for him to keep pace.
Portia slowed as she came alongside the portrait of Aggroedius, stopping to look up at it. “This one, I think we will keep. A reminder that no matter how powerful you are, your time will eventually be over. The old will always wither beside the beauty of youth, wouldn’t you agree?” she cast a glance at Craniax, narrowing her eyes.
“Of course, Lady, progress should never be hampered by the rigidity of tradition,” Craniax fidgeted beneath her stare.
“There are going to be many more changes to come, Craniax,” Portia gave a wicked smile. “Let’s hope for your sake that you aren’t a part of them. It is important that you remain useful to me. I know there was a time when you may have considered us as equals, but it is important that you realize those days have now passed.”
“I am here to serve you, Lady,” Craniax grimaced, forcing a bow. Watching her walk away, he remained standing in front of the painting of Aggroedius. “My Lady, are you sure we should keep this here? What if he is using it in some way to spy upon us and can hear what we’re saying right now? What if he learns of…”
“Enough!” Portia snapped. “There is no way he can learn about the banishment of the others. The spell we cast was powerful enough to hide it from him forever.”
“But this is Aggroedius we speak of, he sees everything, he always has,” Craniax withered beneath her cold stare.
“He knows nothing, and if he has by some miracle learnt of what happened here, then let him come. Soon I will be more powerful than he ever was.” With that, Portia turned. Her shoes squealed on the marble as her red dress flared like a blossoming flower. “You should be more worried about dealing with that noisy rabble that has turned up at our gates. They’re making the place look untidy.”
“I’ve sent an attendant to receive them,” Craniax replied with a slow shake of his head, as he hurried to catch up with her. “I’m sure once they’ve had their say, they’ll slither back to their pits.”
The meeting chamber had changed considerably since Portia had banished the Wizards’ Council and created her Conclave Arcana. Where there were once heavy, sullen drapes that bordered the tall windows, there now hung elaborate silks that enticed the sun to display a myriad of colors as it shone across the room. Shelves of old tomes had been cleared to make room for Portia’s own collection of priceless relics, some of which were so controversial Aggroedius would never have allowed them to see the light of day, let alone take pride of place in the vaulted chamber. The old round walnut table had been carried from the room to be replaced by a resplendent rectangular meeting board, cut from the Tree of Ages after it was felled by lightning, with matching high-backed chairs. All lasting memories of the old council had been purposely removed, upgraded with Portia’s stylised tastes of the future.
Thick oak doors closed behind her as she entered, the conclave guards in their ceremonial armor remained outside. Sitting at the table were the delegations of the three exploration companies she had summoned; each one having brought their own rabble of advisors along. The open conversations tailed away as Portia marched towards her chair at the head, positioned beneath the cardinal amethyst. It hung from the wizards’ crest that was molded and set upon the domed ceiling. It denoted leadership of the conclave.
She slowly sat, taking the time to look at each delegation in turn. Craniax sat at her right hand side. A scribe, almost hidden from view in the far corner where he’d chosen to wait, quietly glided to join Portia on her left.
“Thank you for coming today, and let me first apologize for the noise from outside. It’s simply an unruly rabble wanting my attention, nothing for you to be concerned about,” she forced a smile. “This meeting may well be your most lucrative ever and so I’ll waste no more time than necessary and get straight to the point.”
“Where is Aggroedius, may I ask?” a man interrupted from the Mothrook Goathelm contingent, his fat jowls flapping as he shifted his bulk in the chair. “Our Grandmaster, Rathe said that we would be dealing with him directly.”
“As you can see from where I’m sitting, Aggroedius is no longer with us,” Portia’s tone cut the question from the air and dashed it upon the ground.
“And Yabanius, he would normally be here?” an ash goblin asked from the Gobson Wagontech company. Its skin was a bright red beneath the sun’s light.
“I honestly do not know, nor do I care,” her eyes moved to the Venari Tunnelworks Ventures delegation who were yet to speak. “I trust there are no more pointless questions?”
No one else spoke.
“Good, now I expect you’ll be wondering why your organizations have not been allowed to venture into Praetoria yet? I have been petitioned by all of the exploration companies, it is true, but after careful consideration I have only invited you three here,” Portia let her words hang for a moment, the sound of the scribe’s quill scratching through the air. “As you are very well aware, Praetoria holds rich and verdant lands. Lands that were once owned by the Conclave Arcana, before being given to you and your ilk. You all in turn sold your parcels of land to any and all takers in a blind auction. Now, the time is nigh that these lands should be surveyed by yourselves, and plots identified to their allocated owners,” she said simply, holding her hands out before her. “A task that carries a great deal of responsibility and trust on part of said owners, and one that will be quite profitable to yourselves.
“Maps have been drawn up and the regions are ready for you to begin surveying. All I need from you are your marks of guarantee and some assurances,” she let her words filter through the eager buzz before she continued. “Firstly, every piece of land that has been sold to the people must be thoroughly inspected by your organizations. This will take time and will surely cause some exasperation amongst the deed holders, but it is necessary, I can assure you.”
“What of the Chaos Legion hordes that have invaded and attacked the lands, though?” the Gobson delegate asked with genuine concern. “Do they care about deeds or claims? What’s to stop them from taking ownership of the lands themselves?”
“Trust me, the Chaos Legion have larger aspirations on their mind than parcels of land. What they want isn’t something that can be bought or sold,” Portia answered with a condescending smile.
“But can you at least guarantee our safety out there?” the ash goblin continued, still anxious.
“Of course,” Portia rolled her eyes. “I wouldn’t send you out to be slaughtered. You will all carry the Conclaves’ seal, my own personal guarantee of your safety. And in addition, each of you will be given your own Chaos Legion retinue of soldiers and slaves to make the task that much easier. Rest assured, your safety will not be in question.”
There were stoic nods about the room, and low murmurs between the delegations as heads turned and necks craned to peer beyond the windows, where the noise from outside had increased to an angry buzz, with raised voices coming up from the courtyard below. Portia cast Craniax an annoyed glance.
“Speaking of our safety, is everything alright out there?” the Venari delegate gave a concerned squeak, her ears twitching. “It sounds like the disgruntled stirrings of an angry mob.”
“As I said, they’re just eager to speak with me, I shall see to them when I’ve finished here, there’s no need to worry yourselves,” Portia said.
“You need more troops here, guards you can trust, that would stop any more of their belligerent fuss,” the ash goblin cast a frantic glance back and forth between Portia and the window. “I could arrange for some very reliable mercenaries if you’d like to discuss a price when we’re done?”
“That will not be necessary, now please, back to the matter at hand,” Portia quickly continued. “Secondly, there are relics on the lands. Over the years, I have managed to collect a small number of these relics for myself, and I know the landowners were sold some, as well. But there are so many more relics hidden beneath the ground and I’m more than happy for these to be kept by whosoever excavates them, as long as I get to take my pick from the valuable hoards you're sure to find,” the Venari envoy opened her mouth to speak, the whiskers quivering on her snout, but Portia held up a hand to stop her. “Don’t say anything, I must insist that these clauses are absolutely necessary.”
The Mothrook Goathelm delegate leaned over to one of his aides and whispered something in his ear. Whatever it was seemed to coax the man into action. He fought to release his bulk from the chair, pushing his hands against the table to stand.
“And what may I ask, do we get for our ongoing efforts? For it seems that at the moment, we would be surveying the land for little profit, and can only lay claim to a few paltry relics that we discover, with you taking the most valuable from us?”
Portia slammed her hand onto the table. “You dare to question me in my own hall, we gave you the land for free in the first place did we not?! Sit down, you ignorant, pox ridden swine, while you’re still able to! Do you think Grandmaster Rathe would have the audacity to speak to me in such a way?”
The man turned a bright crimson, looking like he would fit in better amongst the ash goblins. Touching a finger to the swollen boil on his sweaty neck, he slowly sank back into his chair. Some of the goblins and Venari sniggered, and Portia felt her patience begin to fray.
“If you had waited for me to finish, then you would have learnt that I will give you more than fair payment for your efforts, ten gold sovereigns per plot to be exact, paid from the Conclaves’ own treasury.” Portia noted the sudden change in the countenance of her guests. If they were excited before, then they were downright thrilled to the point of agitation now. “But I have kept you all for long enough. There are deals to be finalized and scrolls to sign. Please, speak with my scribe here, and we shall have this business completed, so that you may be on your way.”
There was a brief pause and then a frantic bustle, as the delegations hurried to reach the scribe first. Portia rose and moved away from the table. Craniax followed her, wincing at the stiffness in his joints. She was about to speak with him when there was a commotion from outside the chamber door. She heard the sounds of blades clashing and desperate shouts. Moments later the door was thrown open and an angry mob forced their way in, the guards falling bloodied to the ground behind them.
“What is the meaning of this!” anger twisted Craniax’s face.
A burly man stepped ahead of the snarling pack. Lifting the visor on his helm, his mustache bristled as he gave a loud cough, silencing the room.
“Lady Portia, my name is Huguet le Fauco. I am the voice of the people,” he turned to the side and held out an arm across the front of his fellows. “I have been delegated today by these folk, to speak with you about matters concerning the conveyance of land, land that should rightfully belong to the citizens, until this Wizards Council wrongly assumed the rights for themselves.”
Portia felt her annoyance rise and she cast a glance over at the delegations, who looked on with interest.
“Your rabble looks more like an unruly mob after blood than one that wants to discuss matters of conveyance. Was it really necessary to bloody my guards?” she asked, forcing herself to calm.
“They tried to prevent us entry, my lady. Measures needed to be taken,” Huguet replied, looking over to the delegations. “And it would appear we arrived just in time.”
“I don’t know what this riffraff are doing here, or how they’ve managed to gain entry to your hall, but this question of ownership stays my hand, lady,” the Mothrook Goathelm delegate looked almost pleased with Portia’s discomfort. “And when I was so close to signing my mark as well.”
“I can assure you that there is no issue with the legalities behind the transfer of land,” Portia looked to the scribe and waved her hand. He immediately began to busy himself with trying to recapture the attention of the delegations. “As for you and your company, Huguet le Fauco, I’m afraid it is time for you to leave. I have nothing to say to you, and I do not respond well to such contemptible methods of negotiation.”
“This is not how I wanted our meeting to go, but the people must be allowed to speak, and their demands must be heard,” he replied. “I think you’ll find that the claims I hold are quite clear and carry a certain validity. The land of Praetoria is ours. Not yours to divy up amongst these outsiders!”
Portia could feel the rage boiling inside of her as it began flecking dark spots across her vision, making her skin prickle. “I suggest you leave now, whilst you still can,” she seethed.
Huguet touched a hand to the hilt of his sword. “You will hear our claims, even if it is at the end of my blade, lady.”
“You dare to threaten me,” Portia spat as Craniax shuffled beside her, rubbing his hands together with expectant glee.
“If that is what it takes to make you listen, then I have little choice,” Huguet replied, turning once again to the rabble behind him. “Take the lady and place her in chains.”
Armored soldiers broke free of the angry mob and moved forward towards Portia, as the anger finally flooded her body. The false complaints and infidelity spilling forth from his lips. Calling into doubt the veracity of her rights on the land claims. Questioning her, an Archmage, in front of all these people. And to make it all worse, Craniax was beside her, listening to it all, smirking like he always did, and at her expense. It was all too much.
“Stop!” she screamed, the soldiers moving forward hesitating for a moment as Portia’s anger began to manifest itself, the room growing dark as though a cloud had passed before the sun.
The air around the mob grew heavy, almost cloying as a pestilent smog spread from the baneful cry. The echo of her scream reverberated about the chamber, getting higher pitched with every repetition until it sounded like the delicate chime of crystal shattering. It was then the skin started to slide from the faces of the intruders. Small slithers fell at first, followed by oozing chunks of flesh as Portia’s magic melted their bodies, consuming every last bit of them. When she was done, nothing remained apart from foul, corrupted meat puddling over the armor and assorted clothing of the mob. The room was still. Nobody could take their eyes from the mess that spilled in from the large doors and across the marble flags.
She looked at the delegations, ignoring Craniax as he sniggered to himself.
“Let this be a warning to you,” her voice was grim and shadowed with a veiled threat. “If you betray me or the conclave, this is what will become of you.”
With that she stormed from the room, Craniax quickly shuffling after her. It wouldn’t be long now before Silus arrived with her reward. Soon she would have all the dark energy she needed. Enough to eliminate that fool Silus and eradicate the Chaos Legion from the Splinterlands for good. It would be hers to rule completely. But how could she hope to rule when such a pitiful rabble of altruists could simply waltz through her palace and interrupt her meeting with such ease. Things needed to change – the people needed to learn some important lessons.
Silus watched as a line of soldiers were ushered into the empty chamber. The sound of their manacles clinking and their gasps of pain were a respite from the incessant voices in his head.
“Blight.” Silus spoke the word like it was the answer to a thousand questions.
“My Lord?” An Anachron time mage turned from the captives and peered up at Silus.
“This world will soon be mine, and yet it still toils within the taint of plague our good doctor carries,” Silus chuckled and picked at the dried white scum at the corner of his mouth. “It is time we dispensed with our gift, tick-tock, tick-tock,” he wagged his finger at the mage and gave a delirious laugh. “Time to release the bearer of his burden.”
The Anachron nodded his head, the hood of his robe shifting to reveal hollow, pallid cheekbones. Thin purple lips stretched into an unpleasant smile. “The tendrils of your future entwine. I see them swirling together in unity. With every breath of your voice, my Lord, I can see the way before us becomes ever clearer. Your words are like bread crumbs along the path.” The mage turned upon one of the nearby guards, lifting his great scepter. “Leave us, it is not safe for you to remain!”
Tall warriors, garbed in plate armor barbed with wicked spikes, quickly relinquished the chains of the captives and hurried from the room. The door gave a dull thud as it met the thick frame, the crisp clang of bolts being driven home echoing about the chamber. Silus’ eyes followed the unseen ghosts of sound before finally settling upon the wide-eyed prisoners now kneeling before them.
A purple glow began to radiate from within the Anachron’s jeweled scepter, emitting a low hum. “Time can be measured in many ways,” the mage stooped low, looking each captive in the eye. The purple hue began to pulse. “Life is time itself. It’s a gift that can be taken at any moment.” A chain rattled as a soldier cowered, trying to move away from the mage’s deathly stare. The mage’s knuckles whitened as a whine of raw energy coalescing within the gem of power sent vibrations through the staff. “A gift that can be harnessed for the greater good of the future.” Panicked gasps rippled through the prisoners as they gradually began to age, vorpal energies escaping from their bodies, sucked into the black staff of power that the mage swung before him.
Silus looked on with glee, watching as the captives aged before his very eyes. Hair turned to white before falling from their heads in clumps. Skin darkened, wrinkling around joints and then stretching so thin that it cracked and split. Cataracts clouded their eyes as their spines twisted them into a pained huddle. Some of them even lost control of their bladders, soiling themselves as they fell victim to ravages of time.
The Anachron continued to pace back and forth, sweeping his scepter across their heads, and chanting in low tones. With a final dull flash, life slowly left each of their eyes. They crumpled to the ground one by one, their bodies turning to dust.
“The sands of time have run their course,” the Anachron hissed, lifting the staff high and holding it there, a bright violet light engulfing the room. “Their essences will shape what is to come.”
“It is done?” Silus eagerly rubbed his hands together.
The Anachron nodded. “With the life force of these prisoners, I have banished the seed of plague from the good doctor. It will linger within him for all time, but its power to grow has gone. He will no longer spread it throughout your world, my lord. With the root removed, it will slowly die, and the land will recover from its infection.”
Silus’ body shook with expectation.“Then the end is almost upon us. Soon I will be free of…him. That great beast who enslaves me… I will be free of his infernal desires. He wants to consume this world…” Silus giggled like a small child, “…wants to crawl through the portal and tear the very life from its core, but he can’t.” His voice cracked, and he broke into a crazed bout of laughter. “Their greatest mages are using all of their power to close the rift and deny him entry, and I haven’t even needed to lift a single finger myself.”
The Anachron stepped away from Silus, recognition of the fit of madness that threatened to consume his master, passing across his eyes.
“Everything is falling into place nicely,” Silus continued, calming as the mania left his eyes. “Now we may turn our attention to Portia and her new Conclave Arcana. You must arrange to meet with her, we shall take the dark energy I promised with us, and I will use it to destroy her. Once I am done with those petty mages, it will be complete, the Splinterlands and all its power will be mine.”
“Yes, my lord,” the Anachron murmured. “But what if he manages to overpower them, what if Uul breaks through the portal?”
Silus whirled upon the mage, anger twisting his face into a contorted fury. “Do not speak that name in my presence again!” The mage withered before his master’s wrath. “To utter his name is to light a beacon in the black of night, always.”
“I beg of your forgiveness, Lord,” the mage groveled, falling to his knees in supplication.
Silus paused, the darkness fleeing from his face, leaving a small smile to tug at the corner of his mouth. “Soon, with the power of this new world, you will be able to peer into the dark god’s past, and if it doesn’t consume your mind, we will finally hold the answers to the magic of the universe. Then our next quest will begin, to search for the prime source of that magic and make me the most powerful being to have ever lived.”
Collect special Limited NFTs related to this story at https://www.splintertalk.io/nfts/
Credits:
Story: Daniel Beazley
Editor: Sean Ryan
Narrative Lead: Joey Shimerdla
Character Art (cover): Candycal
Illustrations: Ricardo Caria
Graphic Design: Tamer "Defolt" Oukour
Voice Acting: David Dahdah
Ending credits song: AfterSound
Music / SFX: blaudiss
Post-Production: Ian Withey
Creative Director: Nate Aguila
