The ancient Hall of Concord, nestled in neutral territory amidst the foothills separating Vaelorin and Tir Vareth, had witnessed countless tense gatherings over the centuries. But the atmosphere that hung heavy within its stone walls on this day was unlike any before. Six of the seven monarchs of the Lycan kingdoms had convened, their faces etched with a mixture of fear, disbelief, and a desperate need for answers. Queen Selene of Morrathiel was conspicuously absent, her silence a chilling testament to the darkness that had consumed her realm.
King Theron Vaelorin, his silver hair stark against the shadows in his eyes, presided over the council. He had called this urgent meeting, the weight of Oakhaven's fall heavy on his shoulders. "My lords, my lady," he began, his voice grave, "the reports… the horrors… they are undeniable. We face an enemy unlike any we have known. Creatures of bone and mist, impervious to silver, draining the very life force of our people. The Skarnwraiths."
Lord Vorlag Ironclaw of Draventhall sat heavily on his stone chair, his massive hands clenched into fists. "I still find it difficult to credit such… phantoms. But the Vaelorin reports are consistent. Silver, our ancestral defense… useless? What sorcery is this?" His usual bluster was tempered by a raw unease. He eyed Lady Seraphina, a silent demand for explanation in his gaze.
Lady Seraphina Moonwhisper, shrouded in her customary mist-grey veils, spoke softly, her voice carrying an ancient resonance. "The balance has been shattered. Dark magic, ancient and potent, has been unleashed in Morrathiel. These Skarnwraiths… they are not of this world, not entirely. They are animated by a necromantic energy, a perversion of life itself. Silver, a metal attuned to lunar energies and the natural order, has no dominion over such unholy creations."
Queen Maelis Wildheart's jade eyes were filled with sorrow. "The blight… it spreads. My scouts report the very land of Morrathiel is dying, twisted into something unnatural. To create such… abominations… the life force of the land itself must have been corrupted, perverted." She looked at the empty seat where Selene should have been, a deep sadness etched on her face.
Warden Kyros Starseeker, his gaze seemingly fixed on some distant constellation even within the hall, spoke in his measured tones. "The celestial alignments have been… turbulent. A conjunction of shadows and dying light. It mirrors the darkness that has taken root in Morrathiel. To understand the Skarnwraiths, we must understand the cosmic forces that have allowed their creation." His words, while insightful, offered little in the way of immediate defense.
Lord Kaelen Bloodhowl of Ulvaren paced the stone floor, his frustration palpable. "Talk of magic and stars! Our people are dying! These… these mist-walkers cannot be fought with theories! We need action! How do we kill them? What breaks bone and banishes shadow?" His impatience was a raw, untamed force in the tense hall.
Theron held up a hand, silencing the rising tide of fear and frustration. "We must have a unified strategy. Panic will only lead to further loss. Draventhall, your forges… can you devise weapons that might pierce their ethereal forms? Perhaps enchanted steel, imbued with fire or light?"
Vorlag grunted. "We are working tirelessly, Silver King. But forging weapons against shadows… it is like grasping smoke. We have experimented with fire, with blessed steel… early results are… inconclusive."
"Solmorae," Theron continued, turning to Seraphina, "your knowledge of the arcane… are there wards, rituals, anything that can repel or destroy these creatures?"
Seraphina's veiled gaze seemed to pierce the gloom. "Ancient wards might offer temporary respite, but they are costly and require potent reagents, many of which are now tainted by the blight. As for destruction… we delve into forbidden lore. The price of such knowledge is often steep."
Maelis spoke, her voice filled with urgency. "Their touch drains life. We must find a way to counteract this. Perhaps potent life-giving herbs, imbued with lunar energy… we are working on antidotes, but time is precious."
Kaelen slammed his fist on a nearby table. "While you whisper of wards and herbs, these Skarnwraiths are slaughtering our people! We need to fight! Tell us how!"
Kyros finally lowered his gaze, his starlit eyes holding a rare intensity. "They are creatures of shadow and death. Perhaps… light. Pure, focused light might disrupt their form. Or energies that resonate with life itself, amplified beyond the natural."
Theron nodded slowly. "So, a multi-pronged approach. Draventhall, continue your efforts with fire and enchanted weaponry. Solmorae, pursue any protective wards or destructive magic, no matter the cost. Tir Vareth, focus on a counter-agent to their life-draining touch. Ulvaren, your warriors must be cautious, focusing on containing their spread while we seek a way to truly defeat them. Nytheris, your insights into celestial energies… can they be weaponized?"
Kyros inclined his head. "We are studying the patterns of starlight, seeking resonances that might disrupt their shadowy essence. It is… theoretical, but we will pursue it with all haste."
The council remained fraught with tension, the absence of Morrathiel a gaping wound in their unity. Mistrust still lingered – Vorlag's suspicion of arcane magic, Kaelen's impatience with scholarly pursuits, the inherent secrecy of Solmorae. But the shared terror of the Skarnwraiths, the undeniable threat to their very existence, forced a fragile semblance of cooperation.
As the monarchs adjourned, the weight of their task hung heavy in the Hall of Concord. They were wolves gathered in the face of an unprecedented darkness, their traditional strengths seemingly inadequate. The forging of a true concord, a unified strategy against this terrifying new enemy, would be a desperate race against time, against the encroaching shadows and the mournful wails that echoed from the blighted lands. The first, tense meeting had laid bare their fears and their uncertainties, but it had also planted the first seeds of a desperate alliance.