The Ever Trail - Part 2

topic47634.html <---(First part right here.)

Chapter 2 - Molten Scales

The conference hall was a vast chamber, a room so enormous that it seemed to be capable of housing an entire army and still leave them room to thrash around a bit. So far, it had managed to enclose a brigade - though they complained about cramping at the time.

It was ornate, though not needlessly fussy. The walls and floor alternated between squares of ivory marble and obsidian - much like an oversized chessboard. Above them, the ceiling was constructed of smooth grey stone, carved with hundreds of beasts locked in combat; gryphons chased wolves into the mouths of snarling dragons, while unicorns fenced with stags. A single blank space marked where something – something - had been scraped away.

Though each and every tiny beast was exquisite, each claw painstakingly etched, it was somehow the plain table that dominated the hall.

Around this swathe of white stone, all the chosen crew of the Tidebreaker, the administrators, the Hohlstinian guests, gathered, each looking pitifully small. Even Austas, no small man by any means, looked like a young girl's doll. They chatted amongst themselves, and until a rogue hat ended up halfway across the table, it all seemed quite cordial.

At its head, the Verrath king slouched, silent.

He was hunched, wilted, curled into himself against the back of the throne. Carrying only a slight curve of still youthful flesh beneath, his skin was pale, sickly, tallow. From behind this ashen mask, blue eyes too vibrant for his pallor observed them all. The young king could have been handsome were he not already so lifeless. Instead, he looked almost piteous, but for that fierce gaze.

Beside him, Campbell stood with hands clasped behind his narrow back, lustrous and vivid yet somehow, meek compared to the husk of the man beside him - the monarch seemed to draw the energy from the room, as a spider draws the innards from her struggling prey.

“Are we all present?” he unfolded to speak. Despite his frail frame, the clear voice that rang out through the hall seemed to belong to a far stronger man.

“All called are present, my liege.” Campbell nodded stiffly and shifted his weight. Several of the gathered men glanced at him, wondered why he did not sit.

Nobody knew. The king, certainly, didn't.

“Very well, and now we wait.” the sickly man deflated, shutting his eyes briefly. For some time, nobody dared ask what for.

As if hearing their outermost thoughts, His Majesty explained, remaining slumped.

“For the gods, gentlemen. For the gods.”

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Amidst this, Campbell peered at the young boy at the end of the table. Shunted to the edge of the group, the child had listened with what seemed like cool intent to everything that had been said. The boy unnerved him greatly, for he could only be twelve years old, perhaps less, with mercilessly cold eyes far removed from the innocence of youth. Even as he stared at the table, several of the sailors around him shuffled uncomfortably.

Not far from Austas, a slender man in glasses fidgeted incessantly. By the ocean green hue of his coat, Campbell deduced that he was a navigator. A shifty one.

Sighing, Campbell leaned on the other leg and allowed his green eyes to rove. Opposite the navigator, half asleep, the captain lolled in his seat.

“...no you have to... stuff it right in.... elbow grease!”

This one, Rage, he had met before; he was a boisterous and jovial wolf of a man, playful, friendly, and blissfully unaware of his own considerable strength. Dotted about, he recognised a face or six, but few more.

Campbell's analysis was cut off abruptly by the arrival of their most honoured guests. On the walls, the bracketed torches flared, the candelabra placed at intervals along the otherwise empty table glowed brighter still and the chandelier's light flickered wildly.

A rustling like countless shards of iron scraping across the floor filled the room, and all but one of the mere mortals turned to the arrivals, to better gaze in awe. Seated within direct view of them, the king merely raised his head, wearily.

Realising he was the only one left standing, Campbell dropped to one knee and and bowed his head to the pair that had appeared before them.

“Rise, Frederick Campbell. No human may stand higher than we – you need not worry,” one spoke in formal yet strangely matronly tones. The feminine voice came not from 'anywhere', but from everywhere at once. Shaking, Frederick obeyed, yet his head remained bowed as he dared not raise his gaze. "As you were, Gustav Franklin."

The speaker was the feathered dragon coiled above the entrance in the flesh – she was lithe, almost liquid, her scales flawlessly white and in place of the usual bat, her wings were those of an eagle, arching backwards. Her snout was narrow and her eyes a welcoming shade of gold. Stood to her full height, her horns nearly tangled in the chandelier.

“We won't eat you. I don't like inferior meals.” the other rumbled.

Beside her elegance, he was a heavy set brute; his snout was snub with sharp fangs jutting from a gnarled maw where they pleased. Where her horns turned once behind her, his curled like a ram's. Everything about him looked like metal – he was the colour of iron, with molten iron eyes, his scales were made of iron, his claws were like iron scythes.

Gustav stood.

“My Lady Lyeara, my Lord Tolrin. You grace us with your presence, in your light, and in your darkness. May you continue the cycle of day and night, and watch over we mortals for as long as we may lovingly serve you.” he recited, and despite the words of the oath, he seemed to struggle against none other than... boredom?

And when the dark god spoke, he even sounded like the voice of iron, shouting.

“Yes, yes. As you well see we decided to 'grace you' with our scaly arses, you have permission to start.” he grumbled, causing several of the men present to involuntarily cough - it was as if he had swallowed gravel that morning and washed it down with bilge water as an afterthought.

“My Lord, my Lady, it would be an hono-”

“What did I just say? Cut the crap, Gustav, you're the one who said we have business to attend to. What is so important that you need us as witness?” he barked. Not needing to use his jaws to speak, he bore his fangs in mockery then lay on his belly like a lion, as if the palace were his by right. Maybe it was.

“...Yes, my Lord.” Gustav inclined his head, then addressed the gathered mortals. He was about to speak when Lyeara interjected.

“Forgive my other, I believe he was busy.” Lyeara dipped her head in a dignified apology.

“If I were that busy I'd ignore the wretch.” shouted Tolrin – though he never actually talked, rather, roared as if he had a personal vendetta against quiet.

The king gave them both a veiled glance, as if to determine if they were quite finished. Then he began.