Idilia: The Dark Kingdom - Part 1

V. A City in Mourning

A bucket overflowing with water soaked the dirty rag as a servant scrubbed the corridor floor. Guards returning from their break mocked him. The servant, clad in a simple tunic and carrying his cleaning tools, approached them. Their armor, while sober and functional, protected only vital areas, emblazoned with the Vanamir insignia – three large arches shielding a tower perched atop a sword – a symbol of pride that seemed to diminish the servant in the eyes of these despotic-looking guards.

"Any offerings for a weary soul?" one guard sneered, prodding him with his spear.

"I'm on my way to clean Lord Jolek's chambers," the servant replied.

"You better do a good job, you mindless serf! Don't dare cause a disturbance. If we find anything out of place, you'll be back on the streets begging."

Turning their backs on him with a loud, humiliating laugh, the guards let the servant pass. Moments later, the door to Jolek's chambers swung open, startling them and sending them scurrying away, their earlier arrogance replaced by nervous haste.

The city of Moriath had come to a complete standstill. The cobbled streets, radiating outward from the Acropolis palace in concentric circles, teemed with its inhabitants paying their respects to the deceased counselor. Fairies adorned their stone houses with white and blue flowers. The largest buildings near the commercial area were draped with tarpaulins and blankets. Shops of all kinds remained shuttered, their streets becoming the sole domain of the Council of Moriath's personal guard. Perfumed vegetable oil-fueled lanterns and lamps that cast a warm glow across the city. Songs and prayers to the ancients resonated throughout the streets.

All the prominent figures of Moriath lined the main street connecting the Acropolis entrance to the city gates, solemnly watching as the personal guard carried the coffin bearing the body of Grand Master Counselor Jolek of Idilia on their shoulders. Musicians stationed throughout the city played mournful melodies and hymns of victory, while singers and storytellers recounted Jolek's life to the gathered Fairies.

A hush fell over the crowd as the coffin was carried through the city, along the very paths where a once victorious Vanamir, respected and admired by all, had marched. Council members murmured among themselves as Jolek's corpse passed before them, their chambers now feeling cramped and oppressive.

Counselor Alathor from the Morth-I-Zan race, his imposing figure clad in a white marble-like exoskeleton, rose and recited a eulogy for Jolek in the Morth language, its guttural sounds echoing through the square. His face, a study of sharp angles and deep shadows, betrayed no emotion as he stood in solemn respect, the massive joints of his limbs reminiscent of volcanic rock. His smooth, stone-like skin completed the image of a living statue, imposing and unwavering in his grief.

The other council members, all adorned in the same purple cassocks adorned with symbols representing their virtues, watched the procession. Counselor Anya from the Koriann, with her slender and graceful form, stepped forward, revealing a face etched with sadness from beneath the hood that had previously obscured it. Her small, delicate eyes glistened with tears as she watched his colleague's body get carried away. In the Koriann tongue, a language meant to commune with forest spirits, she offered a quiet prayer. Her slender form, adorned with intricate patterns depicting flora and fauna, moved with a sinuous grace as she retreated, a large pair of insect-like wings gently shifting behind her. Her elegant hands held in a prayerful position, tears streamed down her pale cheeks as she murmured a final farewell to his friend Jolek.

The funeral march continued down the avenue. A large, robust figure with surprisingly soft skin and pronounced joints, some hidden beneath his purple cassock, joined the procession for a moment. His face, distinctly Lurothan with characteristic fleshy protrusions, approached the coffin and left a small bouquet of dried flowers – a symbol of remembrance for a great Fairy who had once bloomed brightly, now withered but forever cherished in their hearts. The Lurothan counselor by the name Kryos with words brief and filled with conviction, expressed his belief that Jolek's legacy would live on.

While the Lurothan performed this small ritual, another figure, his movements imbued with ethereal grace, moved forward. This was the Yarak councilor Olara, her luminescent skin glowing with an otherworldly light that rivaled the moonlight. Her eyes, radiating shades of silver and indigo, held a gentle light as she recited an ancient prayer for her departed friend Jolek. It was a rare sight – a True Yarak out in the open in contrast with the Yarak Dunara, their ethereal counterpart the more common form seen in Idilia.

Standing behind councilors Morth-I-Zan and Koriann, Astra watched with growing impatience. He yearned for the ceremony to be over, a stark contrast to the somber mood that enveloped the city. The weight of his ambition pressed down on him, a suffocating cloak that overshadowed the gravity of the situation.

Councillor Anya, her gaze finally meeting Astra's, spoke softly, her voice barely a whisper. "It seems your proposal to succeed Jolek finds favor."

The Morth-I-Zan placed a heavy hand on Astra's shoulder, his grip firm despite his aged form. "Welcome, young one, to this sorrowful day. Your role as Grand Master Counselor begins now."

Astra, struggling to contain a smirk, offered a feigned grimace. "The honor you bestow upon me is a heavy burden, but I vow to fulfill my role with wisdom and respect, striving to live up to the legacy of Lord Jolek."

His voice dripped with false sincerity, the hypocrisy hidden behind a bow that concealed his expression from the other councilors. He had finally achieved his goal, a power he craved more than he mourned Jolek.

As the last echoes of the funeral march faded, the crowd began to disperse. Astra, eager to claim his new position, turned towards the Acropolis with the other councilors. However, a subtle shift in the air caught his attention. A tendril of shadow, faint and wispy, detached itself from his own form, a chilling echo of the power he wielded – the Non-creation. It lingered for a moment, a silent observer, before dissipating into the gathering twilight.

Astra shivered, a feeling of unease gnawing at him despite his triumph. The visions he'd experienced – the battlefield ravaged by dark magic, the figure cloaked in obsidian armor, and Elara's piercing eyes – flickered at the edges of his mind. The power he sought had come at a cost, a darkness that clung to him like a shroud.

He quickened his pace, the shadows around the Acropolis seeming to writhe and twist, mirroring the disquiet within him. The city, once a bustling hub of life, now felt oppressive, the mourning a mere facade masking a deeper unease. Astra, consumed by ambition, had taken a step towards his desired power, but a chilling realization dawned on him – the path he had chosen was paved with darkness, and the consequences of wielding the Non-creation were far from clear.