The Prophecy

9th Mouvement: The Council of the Sacred Volcano

Walk of the Prophecies – Slindya-La-Douce

15 Lïon 1307

The sounds of the inter-community city reached them long before they could discern the houses, streets and alleys that made up the imposing city. The atmosphere was once again tinged with shimmering colors as the sun swayed from the other side of the world, but everyone was happy to finally see the goal of their long journey. Only the Elven Royal family and their entourage were really in good shape, which could explain why the Wise Elves men saw the sumptuous reception that awaited them with some apprehension. Everyone knew that it was going to be a tight game - you can't sweep away the bitterness of several generations in one evening - but they were all relatively excited about the challenge: bringing together the best friends and enemies in a vacuum was a daunting task, and yet it was going to happen, and they would all contribute to it, at their respective levels of responsibility.

The Council of the Sacred Volcano would take place in the Golden Palace that dominated the city of Slindya-la-Douce, on the very slopes of the volcano, in front of Lake Mystic. Thus, they took the direction of the Volcano in a wonderfully executed turn. The sacred volcano imposed its dark mass to the city, hiding the sun which was setting behind. It could easily have been interpreted as a sign of bad omen for an emotionally weakened or simply impressionable person. But the group of Elves had many other worries in mind to pay the slightest attention to it: The King was sharpening his political approach with his advisors, provoking the irritation of his wife, whom he obviously did not listen to despite her wise advice. The wise elves men, for their part, consulted each other to be sure of their speeches and the arguments they were going to have to provide. They also listed the people they would have to convince, in The Lost Steps Corridor, in order to hope to have enough voices during the vote.

Finally, the Elvish delegation arrived at the gates of the Palace. Numerous crews were already there and the back and forth of the carriages and all other means of transport imaginable was incessant. Rarely had the Golden Palace been so crowded, as the times of coronations, weddings and other events were long gone. Yet all the staff seemed to know exactly what was expected of them and the organization, however arduous, was beyond reproach.

After landing safely in one of the countless paved and tree-lined courtyards of the Palace reserved for this purpose, the Elvish delegation, welcomed as distinguished guests by a dozen lackeys, was escorted through many richly decorated corridors. Then it reached a huge corridor that led to two golden doors that remained closed. In front of these were all the other guests of the council: Wise Men, Magi, Prophets and Seers from all the communities of Innàa.

Some, who obviously knew each other, greeted each other, others, for the same reasons, avoided each other...

The Stallion, who was attending for the first time, looked around and marveled. He, who had never left his Walk and who only knew the existence of certain beings or communities from the stories told by travelers, now had the opportunity to observe them with his own naked eyes. He had a look of interest that he could not hide. Finally, he decided to detach himself from the group to discover all these wonders more at his ease.

The Great Pope, for his part, was ostensibly looking for someone when the Storyteller, pulling him by the sleeve, whispered something to his hear. The Pope then sliced through the crowd to reach the person in question. It was Sältar the Willow, his human equal. As he was about to reach him, a troop of joking magicians passed in front of him, forcing him to stop. Once they all left, Sältar had disappeared. The Pope looked embarrassed and his face suddenly darkened. The storyteller who was catching up with him showed him a person from a group of Prophets not far from them, and the Pope became darker and darker.