Main Story - Book 1, Chapter 2: Council

 

In the days following the Crown’s disappearance, the entire kingdom of Looma felt as if it were at a standstill. That crown was no ordinary headgear, after all; that was the legendary Crown of Another Day, passed down from generation to generation of royalty to symbolize peace and prosperity for years to come. With it gone, there was no way to crown Ghasquerade as the true inheritor to the throne, leaving the kingdom lost, with no heroes brave enough to retrieve it. Fantasmasq sat in a tense meeting with his council, the Dukes of Looma, in order to decide what to do next. After all, if there’s no crown, there’s no ceremony, and if there’s no ceremony, there’s no heir.

“Perhaps we could simply forge an alternative?” suggested the Duke of Confabula Grotto. “I’m certain we have the gold for it.” 

“No, no! It must be that crown, it is too priceless to replace!” interjected the loud-mouthed Duke of Soulwreath Shores.

“But from where are we to source a suitable hero? Heroism hasn’t been a profession in all of Looma for--” The Duke of the Great Twistwoods was interrupted by the creaking of the meeting hall’s door, followed by the soft, polite footsteps of the Duke of Ziritaii County, the eldest of their council.

“I apologize for the tardiness, my liege, but I have received word from one of my region’s Makulei that I believe you will find most interesting…” the Duke decreed. The Makulei stepped in to stand alongside her, zeir every footstep rattling zeir body as zey walked. Zey seemed to be the oldest of zeir kind, using a great staff to keep zemselves sturdy as moss grew on zeir back and draped over zeir shoulders. Zeir oaky skin seemed to crack at the joints, frayed from years of dedication to the biosphere of Looma.

 

The Makulei spoke in an archaic tongue ill-understood by most of the council, with a voice that creaked and groaned like the very door zey walked through. The most Fantasmasq could make out were single words… something about a “sina” being brought to a “fano,” or something… it all was hard to follow, even knowing that the Makulei’s language is distantly related to his own. The other Dukes put on contrived expressions of understanding, staring intently at the Makulei as if they were making any sort of attempt to internalize zeir monologue.

“Now, if you don’t understand Zelanue, which I am sure you all do…” the Ziritaii Duke said in a sarcastic tone, “what zey posit is that we are witnessing the beginning of a Zelenic prophecy, one uttered by the plants only where the garden grows… I shall translate it for you, to the best of my ability.”

Long ago, our lord Infinitus created Terrania with His divine hand.

It was with but a wave that the landmasses rose from the ocean, 

and the Great Dragons were born to protect it.

But do you know, truly, what happened to Infinitus…?

Born into godhood, our Lord was never truly immortal. 

He would live and die like all of us, 

and one day He would draw His last breath.

So, when time drew short, it was up to the great mages to seal Him away, 

and give Him proper burial.

Lightning struck the earth, and the land was scorched with pure nightmarish force.

Infinitus screamed, His song twisted and mangled with age.

Terrania’s scars still show the reverberations, her winds wail with knowing.

Infinitus’ withered form was sealed into the earth forever.

The energy shot across the land, charring it a deep black.

So when the dust settled, and the great mages opened their eyes

They found nothing but a chasm carved into Kano’s tallest peak.

One day, many years into the future, 3 heroes will emerge

They will travel the lands, gather the arcane artefacts from each region

And bring forth a new era, where night and day exist at once

And Terrania will bloom into its finest hour once more.

She paused for any sign of recognition among the council, before sighing, “Whoever stole the crown plans to resurrect Infinitus, my lord. They believe themselves to be the prophesized one.”

The council’s muttering fell into silence. Fantasmasq could swear he heard the still air louder than the stifled breathing of his councilmen. The Duke of Loomshroom Alley, who had remained silent up until this point, cleared her throat, “I-If this is a matter of prophecy…” she stammered, “...are we truly right in retrieving such an e-essential piece of it…?”

With that suggestion, the entire room erupted in argument once more.