The Daxia Chronicles

Ariszek drew circles on the arm of his throne with his finger, being careful not to scratch it by pressing too hard. He sighed deeply, bored out of his mind. It had been quite some time since a worthy opponent had challenged him, and he grew bored of leading on his nemesis, and the scorching flames of a mighty warrior's will had dwindled to meagre and tepid embers. Ariszek had much patience, but even he with the most patience could only stretch it so far. And when Ariszek grew bored, he grew impatient, and when he grew impatient, he became irritable, and when he became irritable...well, nobody knows. Nobody living, anyhow.

Still drawing circles, he grumbled almost inaudibly, followed by a throaty growl, which grew a little louder until he slammed his fist down on the arm, rose simultaneously from the obsidian throne and strode gracefully-yet-angrily toward the steel doors ahead of him as fast as his hind-legged movements would carry him without running, slightly hunched as he moved. He arched back to an upright position has he spread his arms wide to burst the doors open, the morning daylight hitting Ariszek's face as he ceased his superfluous movement at the balcony. He laid his hands on the railings, smoothing them gently with boredom. From the balcony atop his iron acropolis, he could see the entire protodermic metropolis of Destral; his thrall, his kingdom, his dominion. He sighed, slightly more relaxed this time, reminded of the power he had at his fingertips.

Suddenly, Ariszek felt the doors to the inner sanctum of his mind break open, but despite his momentary alarm, the intruder was oh-so familiar.

"Ariszek, my lord, come to the Abyssal Sanctum right away. The Seven Sovreigns have called for a meeting."

It was Vamprah. The blind and bat-like Makuta preferred not to speak aloud, and so communicated telepathically instead. Although Ariszek felt that,despite the lack of this being a face-to-face conversation, some form of telepathic etiquette would be nice. However, news of a counsel with his brethern caused excitement to curl his lips.

''"Are they already gathered?" ''He asked, also capable of telepathy.

''"Yes. They await your arrival." ''Vamprah hissed.

And with that, the dim, yet paradoxically pleasure-filled pain that came with engaging in telepathic communications faded away. Ariszek smiled to himself again, and dissapeared from the balcony in a dim, azure flash.

___________________________________________________________________________________________

The chilly air in the hallowed hall of the Abyssal Sanctum bit at Ariszek, though he barely felt it. He strutted slowly toward a cirle within the stone structure, on the edge of which sat seven monolithic thrones, all of which were filled, save one.

Saar, Makuta of the Southern Continent and First of the Seven Sovreigns.

Velox, Makuta of Artidax and Second of the Seven Sovreigns.

Kraatos, Makuta of Odina and Third of the Seven Sovreigns.

Sephiroth, Makuta of Xia and Fourth of the Seven Sovreigns.

Sephira, Makuta of Voya Nui and Fifth of the Seven Sovreigns.

Iccira, Makuta of Stelt and Sixth of the Seven Sovreigns.

And...

"We are gathered, but where is the Seventh?" Kraatos said, although it was more of a shout due to the circular structure of the Abyssal Sanctum. A short silence followed before being broken by the solid footsteps of Ariszek. The Sovereigns turned to face thier leader (the higher the number, the more power you have within the Sovereigns. Also, the height of the thrones increased according to thier respective rank).

"Fear not, my disciples, for your lord is here," Ariszek boomed with an archaic, almost fatherly tone. He glided toward the empty throne, which sat higher than all the others. He sighed, letting himself slump almost lazily into the symbolic seat of power, placing his right hand under his chin, the elbow resting on the arm, while his other hand drew lazy-eights in the stonework of the left arm (drwaing patterns on the arms of whatever seat he sat on was his most recognizable idiosynchrasies). He glanced to his left at Iccira. "So, to what end have you called this counsel?" He asked softly.

"We have recieved a...message...from Helryx herself." Iccira mused, her voice lacking in expression almost entirely, her steely-blue eyes as cold as ice.

Ariszek, who had sat up at the word "message", slumped back again defeatedly, sighing in exasperation; the exasperation was half to express his dissapointment, and half to express his latent boredom of the messaging "war" between the Brotherhood and the Order, as he was tired of skating of thin ice with those whom he despised to now end.

"Ugh, what does that thespian scourge want this time?" He hissed hatefully. Iccira continued her icy monologue.

"Calm yourself, Ariszek, for this is no meagre, empty threat. It is a formal declaration. Helryx wrote it herself, and it is signed by her and the rest of her Daxian ilk." She elaborated.

" 'Declaration'? 'Declaration' of what. exactly, Iccira?" Ariszek asked, raising an eyebrow, his curiosity piqued.

"Of war." Kraatos answered. The other Makuta murmured with each other, awating Ariszek's emergance from silence. A curtain of silken silence fell, as Ariszek rose from his position atop his throne, walking toward the door with his usual almost-exaggerated grace. "Then it is so. Every combat-worthy occupant on this island leaves at daylight tomorrow. If that b**ch wants conflict, she will get her wish...and much, much more." He growled, stopping dead at the door to the Abyssal Sanctum, thinking to himself for a brief moment.

"Titus..."

Ariszek ceased his brooding, flung the rotting wooden door open as waltzed out, neglecting to close it as he departed.

To Be Continued in: The Daxia Chronicles II: First Strike