Consolidation Rise of the Kingsmen; a EotA Tale

[Damian M. LeBlanc]

Damian reclined into his throne, a large black and garish thing, one leg thrown over the other in a dignified manner. His hands were lightly clasped in his lap and a neutral smile on his face. The moonlight outside filtered in through the glass ceiling, illuminating his porcelain skin and enhancing his inhuman beauty. At his feet kneeled a half dozen of his followers, each from one of the other races. None dared to disrupt the silence.

“You have done well to bring me this information,” the King began. His voice carried a soft spoken tone. “It is… discouraging to hear that the Abhartach are beginning to move in earnest. They have always been a slow going bunch.”

And they had.

He had heard little to nothing of the Night Court in the last century. It meant that they were keeping their actions under wraps or remaining sedentary. Neither of those situations presented much of a threat to him or his plans. To hear that the Night Court had shifted gears, taking a more active stance in the Realm? It meant that they would come into conflict sooner or later.

Damian was under no illusions as to the identity of his biggest contender. Marcus Aumont, King of the Abhartach and Ruler of the Night Court. There was no world in which the two could ever reach a compromise. This ordeal would end with one of them dead. The King of the Demons took a deep breath.

“I will reach out to the Hobgoblins. They can serve as a suitable vanguard against the Abhartach. In the meantime, I want you to gather six volunteers. One from each of the races.” He reached up with his left hand and rubbed his jawline, considering. “While I will not take any open actions to undermine them at this point, I see no reason as to why we can not hassle King Aumont.”

The six vanished with a wave of the hand, leaving the Demon King alone in his throne room. He stared into the empty room with an unreadable expression; introspective. It was not time to wage war against the Abhartach. While he would love nothing more than to crush the man’s throat with his bare hand, such was not the case for the time being. His Empire needed to consolidate and grow their forces. Preemptive measures were definitely on the table, though.

He would entrust the six volunteers, after some remedial training, with harrying the rival King. Disrupting operations and killing messengers. Basic sabotage. Enough to sow the seed for victory in the war to come. They would be the first step to accomplishing his goals.

It took a moment to pull himself out of a daydream. Yearning to reach to conclusion of his journey now rather than later. Sighing, the devilish man pulled the crown from atop his head. His right hand came up and ran through raven locks, drawing a shutter from the Demon King. “Soon enough. I will accomplish what I set out to do soon enough. Patience will see me as the winner, I have no doubt.”

The crown was put back in place and he was King Leblanc once more. His icy stare bore into the walls of his throne room.

 

[NPC of the Day]

Several hours later, as the moon hovered high in the night sky, six volunteers arrived in King Leblanc's throne room, each representing a different race in his diverse empire.

First to arrive was Pyra, a Photrus female with a fiery disposition to match her elemental heritage. Her burgundy skin seemed to flicker with inner flames, and her eyes blazed with determination as she approached the throne.

Following closely behind was Lysander, a Kherrisin male whose unearthly beauty captivated all who laid eyes upon him. His skin shimmered like polished marble, emitting a subtle, intoxicating scent that hinted at his race's inherent allure.

Next came Thalia, a Bronelid female whose wings shimmered with iridescent colors as she gracefully descended from above. Her sharp intellect was evident in the keenness of her gaze, and her slender frame belied a surprising strength and agility.

Beside her strode Draven, a Brenin male whose four arms rippled with muscles honed for battle. His stoic expression betrayed little emotion as he surveyed his surroundings, a born warrior ready to serve his king without question.

Following closely behind Draven was Eira, a towering Nedemoth female whose massive form filled the room with a sense of awe and intimidation. Despite her imposing stature, there was a gentle wisdom in her eyes that spoke of centuries of experience.

Lastly, there was Zephyr, a Bharon male whose scales gleamed with a metallic sheen, reflecting the faint light of the moon above. His prideful demeanor was evident in the way he carried himself, his thunderous presence demanding attention and respect.

As they kneeled before their king, each volunteer awaited his command, their diverse backgrounds and abilities ready to serve the Demon King in his quest for dominance.

 

[Damian M. LeBlanc]

Damian studied the six individuals before him, each a representative of a different race within his empire. They had been chosen not only for their skills but for their potential to strike fear and sow discord among their enemies. His gaze lingered on each one in turn, contemplating their roles in his grand scheme.

“Welcome, Kingsmen,” he began, his voice reverberating through the room with an almost tangible authority. “You have been selected for your unique abilities and unwavering loyalty. Your mission is to serve as the vanguard of my plans, carrying out tasks that will undermine our greatest adversary: King Marcus Aumont of the Abhartach.”

He paused, letting the weight of his words settle in the room. The volunteers remained still, their expressions a mix of determination and anticipation.

“Pyra,” Damian said, his gaze settling on the fiery Photrus, “you will initiate our operations. Your role is to create disturbances and distractions. Your flames will be instrumental in destabilizing their ranks and disrupting their supply lines. Use your abilities to cause chaos, but ensure you leave no trace that can lead back to us.”

Pyra nodded, her eyes burning with a fierce light. “Understood, my King.”

“Lysander,” Damian continued, turning to the Kherrisin male, “your charm and allure will be employed to gather intelligence. Use your natural gifts to infiltrate and manipulate key figures within the Abhartach’s ranks. Information is as valuable as any weapon, and your role will be crucial in understanding their strategies.”

Lysander inclined his head gracefully. “I will gather the secrets they wish to keep hidden.”

“Thalia,” Damian’s attention shifted to the Bronelid female, “your intellect and agility will be used for reconnaissance and sabotage. You will be responsible for the precision strikes—disabling their defenses and scouting their operations. Your wings and wit will make you a ghost in their midst.”

Thalia’s eyes flashed with a calculating gleam. “Consider it done.”

“Draven,” Damian said, addressing the Brenin warrior, “your strength and combat skills will be put to use in direct confrontation. You will serve as the muscle in our operations, confronting and dismantling any forces that directly oppose us. Your presence will ensure that our enemies know they are not safe.”

Draven’s expression hardened with resolve. “I will crush any who stand in our way.”

“Eira,” the king continued, shifting his gaze to the towering Nedemoth, “your experience and wisdom will be your greatest assets. You will oversee and coordinate the Kingsmen’s efforts, ensuring that our operations run smoothly and that any unforeseen obstacles are dealt with swiftly.”

Eira nodded solemnly. “I will guide them to success.”

“Zephyr,” Damian said last, addressing the Bharon male, “your role will be one of intimidation and pressure. Use your presence to exert psychological influence on our enemies. Your mere presence should instill fear and uncertainty among their ranks.”

Zephyr’s eyes gleamed with a mix of pride and determination. “I will ensure they feel our shadow.”

King Leblanc’s gaze swept over the assembled Kingsmen once more. “You are now the spearhead of our efforts. Each of you has a crucial role to play, and your success will pave the way for our ultimate victory. Do not fail me.”

With a collective nod, the Kingsmen rose and prepared to depart, their minds focused on the tasks ahead. Damian watched them leave with a contemplative expression, already envisioning the unfolding chaos and the eventual triumph that would solidify his reign.