The final council

The council is gathered. There are representatives from the seven great nations of the Sphere. The Wise Sultancy lead by Sultan Sunali Naphti, the learned Tris represented by keeper of the mahogany obsidian gate, the charismatic skylings and their beautiful Queen, the mighty Warlords by their Kobold chieftain, the salubrious Beastmen represented by the mighty ranger Raining day, the skilful Pirates and their Lady Ebon. And at the head of the table sits Palayon, chairperson of Lauresia. 

“The armies are ready, my Lord.” The Herald speaks. “And each are placed according to the councils arrangement. Each day brings news of our enemies advance forces, attacking in small numbers and at seemingly random.”

“They are trying to strike fear into our hearts, but it won’t work!” The Warlord chieftain roars, to scattered applause. “Besides, I am disappointed. The enemy sends his weakest against us, his pawns.”

“Perhaps, but I think it more likely they are testing our area’s of weakness, exploring our strategies.” Palayon advised, many nod at his sage advice.

“True also,” Sunali advises, “But I fear his stratagems are far more deviant. I alone here have tasted his bile. I know his cunning. By giving us weak adversaries he is convincing us that he is less of a threat than he really is. Then, look here, as he takes the northern and western mountains we think little of it. But he then gains direct access to the beastmen forest of the Sultancy, and riverside access towards Yakamman. Sending in his elite troops in these area’s while we consider the threat from his forward flank would be devastating to our defences.

Everyone is silent. No one can deny Sunali’s insight, and they are in shock at the Enemies tactics he has revealed.

“Then we best set the Warlord elite units 1 and 7 at Yakamman.” Palayon advises.

“They will like that as much as they will enjoy pulling their own mothers eyelashes.” The Kobold disagrees. “They will want to be in the front line, they all do.”

Palayon smiles. “Yes, but they will see action, and be critical to our war efforts. I promise!”

“I will send healers to attend them.” Raining day states.

“Assist, or placate?” the Kobold disagrees.

Raining day sneers at him, and the air in the room is tense.

The Skyqueen changes the topic. “The Tris have redeveloped high range cannonry since the intrusion by the future selves, who you reported attempted to assassinate your hero’s, correct Palayon?”

“Indeed, a troubling development. We can be sure whatever abomination latched onto them informed the enemy of our tactics in the alternative time stream. We must act as if our best strategies are watched.”

“And are they not?” Ebon interjects. “Need I remind you who we fight today? A GOD.”

“Let me assure you, reincarnate,” The Tris scholar interjects, “The Enemy you justly fear is far more blinded by our powerful Tris magics than you can even imagine. We have slain more Gods than you can count, this one will be little different.”

The room is silent at his confidence.

For all his bravado all know the Tris Empire did, eventually, fall.

“And what if we do overcome the Terror nimbus? What then? What power have we that can defeat this deity?” The Kobold asks.

“Patience.” Sunali councils. “He will not doubt guess that all our hopes ride on bringing down his nimbus, a tactical oversight I am counting he did not guess us to know. We must not bring all our forces to bear against him should the nimbus fall. Our best hope is to either send small groups, elite forces, into his flagship, or hope our salvation arises from another area to defeat him. Either way, any who face him personally can expect resistance of an unimaginable magnitude.”

“Then what?” Ebon shouts, “We take his ship, and his army, only to be defeated by the Enemy in person?!”

“No. not this time.” Palayon interjects, the hurt in his eyes only barely concealed at his anger in allowing a doopleganger into the city, even one that eventually turned against her God. “We must not forget the hero’s. They have shown more skill, faith and luck in these two short years than our entire culture in 100,000 in defeating the enemy and thwarting his plans. When the terror nimbus fails, you must each do what you feel is right. But my heart tells me that all our hopes, all our LIVES, rest on those still so young. It is up to them, or no-one.”

Once more, the room is silent with this truth. Soon conversation turns once more to how to best prepare the cities, armies and people of the Great Sphere.