Conquest Of The Fallen: Dark Dominions

Lutes played loud in the regal courts of the castle.

Of the polished pillars, magnificence that was both calm and grandiose shone outward into the acres of fresh mow that made the grounds.

Keeps of prize steeds and sniff hounds rose off to the west. As the strumming of ecclesiastical harps wafted into the long princely corridors, the incense of flowers and mountain mist rolled with the music.

The archways of the castle were empty, but not for long. Any second now, the stewards of Her Majesty expected company. A whole lot.

Three hours earlier, Damnameneus ended the first conclave of the Ruling Council; all nine members were swift in dispersing out of the [Black Room], hidden stairwells carrying them off through silent passages and silhouetted exits. Even the Lord of the council, the High Magus was quick to get off his cabinet seat and head off for his carriage. Tonight promised to be wonderful.

Tonight promised to be full of lavish and luxury.

Culture and créme.

Indeed, the Elder Statesmen event.

Besides the Royal Diamond Ball and debutanté fete, nothing drew the affluent crowds like this one ceremony. An excuse to meld and show off, garner favors, and for some families, elevate even higher in the noteworthy plutocracy. Eldoria was a fine example of monarchy and capitalism intertwined; and yeah, the imperialists sure made it work.

It wasn't that the masses suffered.

Nón. Not at all.

Market prices and trades were the best it had ever been; food prices on the low, shipping affordable, silk and gold easy for earners – the economy of the Continent getting better every dawn. The citizens enjoyed all these—so long as they remained shut out from the kingly parties.

And what more thing screamed suave and sauce like Elder Statesmen.

A Bellman in a splendid red overcoat stood by the towering double doors of the event hall. He did an umpteenth passing of the eye across the majestic inflorescence and drapes arrangements to make sure the maids hadn't missed a spot, or dressing.

Afterward, he adjusted the gold buttons of his wine coat and stood tall in the Victorian high collar.

He grabbed hold of both doors. The crest over the pure gold handles had been replaced thrice in the last four years. First, the Griffin. Then the Dragon. And now, the Raven. And the Bellman had seen it all. Howbeit, he was quite happy and fulfilled with the present crest. He hesitated only a moment and echoed his voice in the splendorous outfit.

"The hour is upon us. Let the soiree begin!"

Then he pulled open both colossal doors sharply inward.

Similar elegantly uniformed valets stood ten apace of each other in the yard as the esteemed guests began arriving. Receiving those of the kingdom's finest noblehouses were a fetching scoop of hot blondes.

The supermodels lounged on the steps leading up to the event hall in pencil stilettos and see-through dresses that were definitely touched by the hands of a naughty modiste.

"That's a lot of leg," one nobleman said to his lady wife with a twinge in his smile as he regarded their receiving party. The girl holding out her hand to them was sunny-haired and leggy as a goddamn cheetah. The nobleman tossed his truffle hat to the standing valet barely regarding the male service at all. But the gorgeous model chick on the other hand. He smiled more. "Ain't she a pretty little thing, darling?"

"Certainly, dear." The Lady joined her husband in ogling the tall blonde as the girl pulled the coat of her shoulders. "It's hard to be straight when you get within two feet of all these young kittens. Be careful, my love, I just might take this... pretty little thing to my bed tonight."

Both nobleman and his lady rang out in laughter as she finished speaking. Their gazes lasted another slow second on the generous helping of the girl's chest before they continued onward. They were still laughing hard as they crossed the red carpet into the dazzling Statesman hall.

The Bellman looked tenderly to the girl now with a thousand coin's worth of [Iuropa] mink, even as he bowed to more aristocrats crawling up the long red carpet. The flattering chandeliers shimmered in his gaze, but the girl got the message.

She couldn't take offense to being called 'kitten'.

It was she who wanted the job. At least the woman didn't flatout call her a 'pussy'.

Air quotes in it and all.

In this case, this particular blonde was far from holding grievance at the noblelady for calling her a little cat. If anything, she was the one who might find the woman after the party. The noble Lady might question her sexual leaning, but not his blonde. At the backs of the rich couple, she tsked to herself. "Ay Ay Ay! If only you know... how much I love pussy."

The joke was now on them.

The grounds of the Imperial castle was soon like a beach in Forcados during spring break.

[Shuttle wagons] lined the front yard. The cosmo-fueled vehicles riding in purrs across the smooth grass bed, ruffling greenery with soft, purplish machine light. Unlike the antique, metal and ivory carriages, the [shuttle wagon] didn't need to growl across courtyard and fountain. The latter though was more common among the bourgeoisie.

Nobility of the Empire might have accepted [Mecha] and their machines into their capital city. But not their heads.

Plus the best friends of medieval aristocracy: purge-and-pyre wizards, and fire-and-brimestone monks didn't much like the religion of Cosmo—a new [energy harvest] infinite in the universe—to mana and God.

Thus the trickle with which [shuttle wagons] made landing in the parking fields.

The Guests list was like the kind you'd find on the wedding of a Conqueror or the invite card to a private showing of the [Baphomet] painting.

Princes of the Van Imperia House. Ministers of the Nine Realms. Ambassadors from Corynthia and its isles. Admirals of the Empress's fleet on the Cold Sea. Decorated Marshals of the Regiments, Fort Sandringham amongst the represented. And [003] Commandeers of the [Dragonrider Covenant].

Perhaps, the only thing missing was aliens rich out their ass.

Each faction of mortal and magicked nations in the Continent were represented—per Imperial decree.

Filling the splendorous halls were [Skyling] fae princes and [Dawn] Elfs, bluish merfolk trying out human legs, ram-horned [Critch], few repentant devils, and mudane mortals without an ounce of magic within them. Rafel himself showed up in a gilded caravan of four horses, with two gorgeous candies of his harem. Corazón almost put his black gold doublet to shame in her military ceremonial suit. As Commandant of cadet squads at the Fort, she rocked the navy blue suit proper.

And she wore shoes.

Seeing the brazen tomboy with the hero of the Rebellion, the line of models who were supposed to receive them went mute. Their jaws slack on those primrose stairs.

It was Corazón who had to move behind Rafel to take his albatross furcoat; the blondes were lost in the hypnotism of their arrival. Strolling not to far behind was Aya Naamah, the most seductive vision of the night. Her gown was made of midnight. On the blood-red carpet, she was as [Bathory] in the sea of Elizabethan silk—and blood of her enemies. Or rather, prey.

Rafel entered the hall with a pumped gait, mostly to spare his blond groupies death by daydreaming.

His beautiful girls, one on each side were the most perfect contradiction, and yet compliment of each other: Cora, lovely and cute in her tailored slacks. Aya, powerful and dangerous sexy in her ebony satin. Like she knew Rafel's mood, her complexion for the event was much closer to brown than the light skin she usually wore.

In actuality, she was a blue succubus, but tonight she was a chocolate babe.

Her magenta iris remained.

Rafel was so proud and aroused by his harem he held their hands all the way into the hall. He just had to be touching some part of them. Walking in with two, super sexy and rounded chicks drew all eyes of the gathered nobility. But nobody expected less of the man who'd led the vanquish of Titans.

Rafel's eyes landed on Damnameneus, his druid in the hordes war, and now Lord of the Council. The High Magus gave a short nod. Rafel nodded back.

Damnameneus was conversing with a bunch of soft-eyed northern princesses, whom all definitely had a thing for older men—as they were listening to an Immortal talk in rhapsodic delight.

"You think the party will be good?"

"Oh, it better be. I've been celibate for six hundred and thirty five years."

He let the circle of girls laugh for seconds, before he spoke again. "But what are we talking about here: it's the Elder Statesmen! Of course it'll be fucking good. It'll be perfect."

It was at this point Rafel removed his eyes from the moon-eyed mage to the musical accompaniment.

[🎶 Material World – Idina Menzel.]

The operatic singing woman's soprano, the large choir backing up her solo, the harpsmen plucking paradise out of notes no one but them could see; it was all enchanting.

The rendition gained fervor till Rafel felt his inner [Gladorium] gain Influence. The choir ended with a splash that had the ostentatious guests forgetting their own narcissism for a minute. The wealthy class surprisingly afforded them with an applause.

Rich people didn't clap for anyone but themselves. . .and the Guillotine.

On the left, Rafel spotted Major Midas Azubuike, the most decorated rankofficer of the [Dragonrider Covenant]. He was clapping. On the right, the hard General, Lord husband of Councilwoman Jhana, Ser Julliard. And he was clapping too. So also the fair Lady, Margaretta Scazazzi, the wealthiest—and most made-up—woman at the event.

Lady Scazazzi didn't clap for no one but her pink, [Poromiel] parrot.

Still, in the enchantment of the opera, and the star-studded guest list, all applause faded from the Elder Statesmen event when the topping of this circle of filthy rich noblesse walked out.

The third belle of Rafel's harem, the [Empyrean] Empress.