Iscarion’s council chamber had witnessed much these past decades, the hall’s great table having witnessed the furious threats exchanged among bitterly divided Satraps followed by the spirited debates of civic leaders after the Ceraphate’s unification. More recently, the chamber had been repurposed into a war room as the Iscarneth and their allies desperately attempted to repel the devastating onslaught of Waaagh! Mogrek.
Dariel "the Resplendent", Ceraph of the united and now shattered Prime Dominion, sat at the head of the great table, surrounded only by his close confidants and their aides. The vast hall felt empty in their presence, empty for all the losses they had suffered in Mogrek’s wake. The Ceraph’s eyes drifted over marks in the table where daggers once pinned maps or accentuated threats, discoloured splotches caused by drinks spilled from excitable diplomats or heretical concoctions, and cobblestones cracked by the passing of armoured juggernauts and treefolk alike. For a moment, his mind wandered, pondering where all those who had come before were now.
Silently, he thanked all of his allies, unlikely or otherwise, for their efforts. The Prime Dominion may have been broken, but it remained unbowed. Hope still blossomed as the survivors rebuilt homes and lives atop recent battlefields.
“...another shipment of foodstuffs, grain and hardy seeds has arrived from the Black Lotus Combine and the Manbreaker's friends in the Scarlands, Ceraph,” an aide reported. "Furthermore, we have concluded your new crop rotation schedule will indeed render a greater yield."
“Excellent,” nodded Caradryas Lightbringer, a former adversary turned trusted advisor. “I expected nothing less. With such a bounty, we can provide for the refugees behind our walls and still resupply Ellisar. We can safely turn our eyes to the study of Noctis without worrying about the lunatics from Furnace City throwing themselves into it.”
“What of our missives to Settler’s Gain? To Hammerhal?” Dariel inquired, suppressing a sigh as the aide’s face paled. “Have they at least acknowledged the potential threat to Azyr?”
“Apologies, Ceraph,” the aide replied after clearing his throat. “The, uh, the Azyrites wish to…”
“Do not sugar-coat their words to soothe my pride. Please, tell us what they said.”
“The Azyrites thanked us for our repeated warnings, but have requested we cease relaying them. Furthermore, they express their apologies, they cannot spare any reinforcements to assist in securing the Dominion at this time."
“So, they do not believe Azyr to be breached, and instead think we exaggerate the orruk’s horde for personal gain even while they declare the Era of the Beast to be at an end.” Dariel paraphrased, his tone cool. “Thank you. That will be all.”
“We could be wrong,” Caradryas interjected, always the optimist. “As best we know, all that passes through the Noctis realmgate is torn apart. It could be that the Longblade has already met his end.”
“No,” came the voice of Iden, his counsel ever wise. “These… rifts, they cannot be coincidence. Each is a vortex, as if a plug were pulled from below of the ur-river, and all behave as the Noctis maelstrom does.” The scarred aelf’s brows furrowed, his lips pursed. “They are less volatile, but their traits remain consistent. Should they prove navigable, the Longblade may yet live."
Dariel’s gaze had wandered beyond the council chamber, beyond the secure yet overcrowded walls of Iscarion, and settled upon the Dominion so recently despoiled by Mogrek’s horde. Yes, hope still blossomed, but many dreams had been snuffed out long before their time and the scars left upon land and soul ran deep.
“Let us hope Caradryas is correct, then.” Dariel muttered, more to himself than present company. “I would not wish Mogrek’s rage upon another’s home.”