When Etrusca entered the forum it was empty save for an immense stone table flanked by high-backed chairs.  Although the deities of Vinifera could take any form they wished in an instant, the will of the creator forced all who entered the forum to appear as they really were.  This mattered little to Etrusca; he was one of the few who never took other shapes.  He appeared as always:  a tall, black-haired human dressed in well worn but impeccably maintained plate mail.  At his side hung Liebreaker, the mighty longsword he had wielded as a mortal.  His features were chiseled, and set into a serious expression as was his wont. 

 

He strode purposefully to the spot directly opposite the entrance, unbuckled his sword belt, and slung it across the back of the chair.  As he did the darkness in the archway of the entrance shimmered and the familiar figure of Niye, the goddess of knowledge stepped into the room.  Clad in a brown robe, with brown hair tied back in a simple ponytail, she was thin and pale, and somewhat plain.  In her right hand she carried an enormous leather bound book and a white quill was wedged securely behind her ear.  She nodded once to Etrusca, walked to a chair several spaces from his, and sat.  Etrusca stifled a chuckle at her demeanor.  Niye was the very picture of diligence, but at times her social demeanor left something to be desired.

 

These two were always first to the forum when a council had been called; Niye in her infinite curiosity was always early, and Etrusca because he had tried to maintain as many of his mortal habits as he could.  He had been a leader of armies, and arriving at the battleground first to survey the field was one of those habits.

 

The goddess of knowledge laid her book on the table as the portal shimmered again and two more figures emerged.  One was a tall willowy woman wrapped in a short, dark blue robe carrying a white staff.  Her leather breeches were tucked into  immaculate black boots and her blonde hair, flowing freely around her shoulders, seemed to throw off sparks of magical energy.  Her eyes were riveting, pale blue and piercing.  Her name was Ralaia, the goddess of magic.  The other was a compact, muscular man clad in a battered steel breastplate and greaves.  He wore a helmet crested with the tail of a cockatrice.  A thick black braid hung from under the back of it; blood oozed from the braid and dripped to the floor, each drop disappearing with a hiss of steam.  A bloodstained, wide-bladed halfspear was gripped in his knotted hand and spikes jutted from the tips of his iron shod boots and the leather band around his neck.

 

Etrusca and Niye exchanged a glance.  The war god, Arkun, had apparently not given up on being Ralaia’s consort despite centuries of being rebuffed.  Judging from the exasperated expression on her face, her mind had not changed.  

In they came, the gods and goddesses of the world of Vinifera.  Keena, the gnoll god of humanoids and predators, Cheven, the gnomish master of inventions, Boudicca, twin sister and eternal enemy of Etrusca, the blood of her latest kill staining her skin and hair, and more.  They assembled there in the forum created for their use by the creator of all until only one chair remained empty. 

 

Known by many names by myriad mortal races, to them had been given the governing of the mortal world.  While seldom involved directly with the affairs of mortals, their worshipers preached their doctrines to the masses and prayed for their favor.  It was from these prayers and the acts committed in their names that they drew their immense powers.

 

When all had arrived and been seated, enemies and allies alike turned their attention to Hyarmentir.  Clad in polished plate mail, his winged helmet sitting on the table before him, he was of average height and build for a human.  A minor power, he was the god of loyalty and sacrifice, the patron of guards and selfless warriors.  His duty here was as mediator.  He rapped the table with a gauntleted hand and rose.  A long scroll, wound on a golden rod, appeared in the air before him and a small podium formed under it. 

 

“The council of gods is now in session.”  His voice was a quiet yet forceful bass, brimming with self-assuredness.  “We have been summoned at the requests of several of our number, to discuss certain issues that have arisen.”  He paused and looked around at the assemblage.  “The first item:  the war raging on the Savage Coast among the humans that inhabit the region.  We…”

 

Arkun pounded the butt of his spear on the floor.  His eyes glinted with excitement and bloodlust.  “I say let them fight, even if they drive themselves to extinction!”

 

Se’Athe, the goddess of nature, shook her head and spoke quietly, sadness in her voice.  “They destroy the very land they live on.  Vast tracts of forest and farmland are laid waste, displacing countless animals.”  She was a Krute, one of the first races of sentient species to inhabit Vinifera.  Her skin was scaly and had a faint green cast to it.  Instead of hair, seven long horns sprouted straight up from the crown of her head, and she wore only a loincloth.  Two leather straps crossed her torso and met between her prominent breasts. 

 

The god of war snorted derisively.  “Who cares?  The deaths of a few forest dwellers are meaningless in the glory of battle.”

 

Martina Longleaf, the elven goddess of medicine and woodlands laid a comforting hand on Se’Athe’s shoulder.  “War serves only itself, Arkun.  Conflict propagates conflict.” 

 

“That’s the point, Elf.”  He spat the word as if it left a bad taste on his tongue.  “My followers have worked hard for the continuation of the war.”  Arkun snorted again and folded his massive, blood-streaked arms. 

 

Martina stood with fire in her eyes, her chair clattering to the floor behind her.  “I have warned you enough times, Arkun, about…”

 

Hyarmentir pounded his fist on the table.  “Stop!”  His voice resonated around the chamber, shaking the marble columns around them and bringing the two to a halt.  “As I was about to say, the war will end soon enough.  Those who will must do what they can to repair the damage.” 

 

Martina’s fury slowly faded.  Her chair righted itself and she returned to it.  Casting a baleful glare in Arkun’s direction she curled her lip into a sneer.  “There will be no more warnings.”  Arkun merely chuckled mirthlessly and shrugged at the threat.

 

Hyarmentir gave her a warning glance.  “Of greater concern is the disappearance of Samack.  Niye, please tell us what you know of this matter.”

 

The goddess of knowledge cleared her throat and stood.  “He was last seen in the company of Ma’Estra near the eternal prison of Musku.”  Samack was the patron deity of revelry and excess.  His recent disappearance had sent ripples throughout the planes as the prayers of his followers had begun going unheeded.  “His followers are falling quickly into chaos, even moreso than usual, and their prayers are becoming desperate.”

 

Boudicca, the Beastlady, bared her pointed teeth.  “Then let us question Ma’Estra.  The cowardly wench must know something.”  The eyes of the gods turned to the empty chair. 

 

“Where is she?”  The question came from Teleri and was directed at no one in particular.  The Lady of Song was the patron of bards.  Her hair and eyes shone silver, and her clothing was brightly colored and in the latest fashion of Eretria.

 

“Here.”  The voice was a sibilant hiss.  The gods and goddesses looked toward its source and saw Ma’Estra, the goddess of intrigue, leaning nonchalantly against a column behind Etrusca.  “I’ve been here all along.  In fact, I was the first to arrive.”  Swathed in a black cloak and hood that seemed to drip shadows, her glowing green eyes were the only visible feature they could see.  “I do try so hard to be punctual.”  She gave Boudicca a lazy bow and when she spoke again, her voice was ingratiating but carried an undercurrent of sarcasm.  “As to the questioning, I know nothing of Samack’s whereabouts.  He followed me to Musku’s prison and I haven’t seen him since I left him there.”

 

Niye furrowed her brow.  “What were you doing at Musku’s prison?  You know we are forbidden contact with the Dread One.” 

 

Ma’Estra shrugged and spread her gloved hands.  “And you know I am eternally curious.  I had never laid eyes on Musku, and was in a hurry to discover something new.”  She moved to the empty chair, making no noise and seeming to glide across the floor. 

 

“I really don’t see the point in all this.”  The voice was that of Melkor, god of murder, pain, and lies.  He was a Halfling, in ragged clothing.  His eyes were bottomless pits of blackness with a pinpoint of orange fire deep in their depths.  He sat leaned back, his short legs propped up on the rungs of his chair.  Even Etrusca felt a chill run up his spine at the sound of the Dark God’s voice.  He and Melkor were sworn, eternal enemies.  Then again, Melkor had no friends among the gods; when he made alliances, they were usually short and served only his purpose.  At times Etrusca wondered if Melkor didn’t find himself twisted into his own intricate plots.

 

Melkor rotated his wrist and a black-bladed dagger appeared in his hand.  He began tossing it into the air and catching it as it came back down.  “If a few gods disappear or die off, it only means more power for the rest of us.  I would be delighted to answer the  prayers of Samack’s faithful.” 

 

Lira, the goddess of beauty, lifted one perfect eyebrow into a shapely arch.  “I don’t believe you’re the one to do so, especially if the council is against it.”

 

The dagger disappeared from Melkor’s hand and he gave her a smug, mirthless smile.  “Pretty one, I wasn’t asking for the permission of the council.  I have already begun to answer the prayers.”

 

Thrain let out an angry grunt.  The god of the dwarves detested Melkor, and was always ready to speak out against him.  “So ye took matters into your own hands?  That was quick.”  His abundant beard bristled and his eyes shone with anger under bushy eyebrows.  “Maybe you know more about Samack than you’re tellin’.”

 

“I don’t recall telling you or anyone else anything about Samack.  What’s more, if I did know more I doubt I’d pass the information to you first, dwarf.”  Melkor leaned forward in his chair and glared at Thrain.  “I’m not in the habit of letting grubby hole-diggers into my affairs.”

 

The barb had the desired effect.  Thrain roared and leapt to his feet.  Following his lead, the other gods did likewise and began shouting at each other.  The council quickly dissolved into chaos.  Only Etrusca, Niye, and Ma’Estra did not speak.  The goddess of intrigue left her chair and backed away from the table.  Finally Etrusca sighed wearily and stood, hammering his fist on the table.  After a moment the shouting subsided and the gods slowly began to resume their seats.  Melkor turned on his heel and strode to the archway that marked the entrance to the council chamber.  When he turned, he appeared to have grown in height; orange fire glowed from his eyes and his skin had darkened in hue to a deep gray.  When he spoke again, his voice was quiet, but it swept over the assemblage like the acrid smoke of the Abyss.

 

“My followers have murdered anything that has drawn breath on the mortal realms.  Do not think that I will hesitate to destroy any of you if you stand in my way.”

 

There was a pause as they absorbed his words.  Finally Niye spoke.  “Did you do something to Samack?”

 

A malicious smile spread slowly across the face of the Dark God.  “I am the patron of lies.  Would you believe any answer I would give?”  His smile disappeared.  “You’ve no evidence and this is not a trial.  I will take my leave; this council is useless, and I find your company tiresome.” 

 

Dianin’Ne, the goddess of oceans spoke.  Typically she said little, always maintaining an air of distance from her fellow deities.  “Perhaps we should petition the overlord, Re, for counsel on our next course of action.”  Her voice echoed and whispered through the chamber like a breeze from a calm sea. 

 

Melkor turned his gaze upon her.  “Very well.  Re is not involved in the matters that concern all of you.  I am merely acting as I should.  After all, slaughter and pain are my portfolio.”  He shrugged and his lip curled up into a sneer.  “And if you do?”  He spread his hands.  “I’ll murder him too.”  With that he turned and disappeared through the arch.

 

Once again the council erupted into angry cries.  There were some who supported the Dark God and others who didn’t.  Some cared little and would not get involved.  Etrusca shook his head in disgust.  This was usually the case; the council members could not get over their own disagreements and agendas enough to accomplish anything together.  They had once again fallen into Melkor’s trap.  The Dark God was a master of chaos, strife, and discord, and it was usually due to him that the council meetings disintegrated.  Etrusca knew that Melkor was probably already seated on his obsidian throne in the Palace of Lost Souls, howling with laughter.