The round council room was darker than normal, barely lit by sconces that held what remnants of beeswax candles they had from the prior week. The smell of furled and ancient parchment paper plagued the air, with several dusty old chairs held up by pedestals. Each chair had its own direction its back faced, each one facing inwards towards the middle of the circular room. The tension was as thinly spread and tightly woven as a New Celestian harlett's virginity, each council member either grimacing, fuming, or down-right enraged. Shayle watched each of them from her chair, newly upholstered because the fabric had long since been worn down by the...former holder. Thankfully, that was twenty or so terms ago, she thought to herself as she noted each and every person present. Shamarah stood on her right, and the prince of darkness, Druken, stood on her left. She daren't blink nor waver beneath the gaze of the others, and she had quickly and repeatedly told both Shamarah and Druken to remain quiet unless they were directly spoken to. The tempers of Night's Council was in no mood for outbursts, especially right now.

The stirring and fidgeting of the angry council came to a hault when the Seneschal entered the room from an alcoved door off to the northeast of the room. He strode inwards, his eyes carefully hooded and emotionless. He wore the typical outfit for a council meeting, black trousers with a buttoned down black shirt, matched ever-so-carefully by the gray cloak that shifted out behind him. Oblique and to the point, Shayle said to herself as she noted the clothing. This isn't going to be another meeting. Xenthos was livid, and someone was going to pay for their insolence, either with title or by blood. She hoped the first. Though, she was reknown for her apathy, bloodshed got overly used and the mess it left behind was not worth the trouble it caused afterwards. Xenthos sat down in the Seneschal's chair, a larger ravenwood chair carved intricately in the form of a crow spreading its wings out in midflight. Silence settled over the room, as Xenthos looked to each of them, finally ending with Shayle. Their stares pierced one another to the deepest core, each one daring the other to either blink or look away; neither of them did either. "Trouble", came his voice into her mind. "You heard already, I take it?" She subtly nodded in his direction, making it look as if she were simply brushing aside a stray bit of her hair from her eyes. "Aye, I have. You and I both know that this isn't going to be easy, especially since the last assault those idiots made on us." She watched the color burn into his eyes, their normal colorless hues quickly changing a burning and intense blood red. "We'll deal with this one, as we have the others." She simply replied before cutting the mental conversation short. Xenthos frowned in her direction disapprovingly. She shot him a look that would've caused the earth at her feet to scream in horror. He simply shrugged his shoulders and turned his attention to the others gathered. Kearvas sat in the chair to her right, and to her left, a woman she was not accustomed to seeing. She thought little of it, turning her attention to Xenthos as he began to speak.

"As you all know by now, the Serenwilde Commune has been seen within Ethereal Glomdoring," Xenthos said as he willed his voice to fill the entire chamber, not that he had to try particularily hard. The room seemed to have a life of its own, echoing anything said to the point that it was well heard by anyone, no matter where they were in the council room. "Our denizens, Brother Crow, and Mother Night will be sure to protect us from harm." There was a murmur amongst a few of those seated. Kaervas rose his voice above the noise and spoke, his words carefully and delicately chosen. The only thing delicate about Kaervas, Shayle thought sarcastically, was his background.

"What about our young and our novices?" he asked, having earned the tale of being the first to volunteer if battle was involved. Or bloodshed. Xenthos looked to Kaervas, quirking a sharp eyebrow and nodded.

"They'll be kept well protected," he responded, though Shayle knew better than most that the young novice was always the first to jump into battle. I've had to show my fair amount of novices just what battle truly entails. Shayle was, by no means, a seasoned fighter, but she wasn't helpless either. She had her hand full of secrets to use, in case someone stepped out of line or someone tried to bring her harm. Leave the fighting for the fools who offer to take it, she thought to herself. Mistress knows, I don't have the time to take up the blade and go rushing into battle like a Celestian martyr. The council was held for several more hours, going over things that would be needed in order to bolster defenses and maybe even prepare for a counter attack. This sort of thing never really had to do anything with the Shadowdancers, so Shayle let her mind wander off to worthier things that begged her attention. At the moment, the Coven of the Night was growing in size. But not fast enough, she said to herself. We can't even call down a Terror Coven if our lives depended on it, much less go out into battle like a group of heretics with purpose. The image made her skin crawl. Too many had she lost to previous wars. Their memories were burned forever in her mind. They were the main reason why she learned quickly, and painfully, that if she were to ever survive in Glomdoring, she would have to become self-guarded and extremely careful.

Xenthos called her name, and she looked directly at him and smiled. He flinched. In fact, most of those present looked at her for a moment with shock. She hadn't smiled like that for years, not unless she had a revelation; she had. "How often does the Serenwilde forces attack the other two entities we know as New Celest and Magnagora?" she asked, putting a little bit of Night into her voice as to soothe those present. Shamarah and Druken both looked to her, sensing the change in the flow of magic that emenated out from her. "How often have they gotten into a tavern brawl?" No one responded. Brainless oafs, she swore mentally as she continued. "Wouldn't it be horrible if something were to...," she stopped herself, as her mind sought the right word. "To...happen...to bring the Serenwilde forces into conflict with someone else, besides ourselves?" There was a murmur of voices at that moment, each one leaning over to their trusted advisors and whispering into their ears. Xenthos watched her with a steel grin, emotionless, save for the bit of pride that gleaned in his eyes. She could almost taste the agitation flooding out, being replaced by a surge of conspiracy and misplaced blame. She couldn't help but let the smile stay, ignoring the stares from Shamarah and Druken as she put more Night into her glamourie than she had before. It washed over those present, save for those two Shadowdancers beside her. Even her husband, Xenthos and Seneschal, was brought beneath its intoxicating blanket. She knew very well that this would be unmoral, but as far as she was concerned, she was tired of the Night Council bickering amongst itselves and vying for their own agendas.

Soon, the council ended, and she bid those gathered farewell. Xenthos watched her leave, a look of subtle longing glistening in his eyes. Or perhaps it was lust. Either way, he let a tendril of lit touch her mind as she departed, leaving promises of the bedroom plentiful in her imagination. Men, Shayle thought to herself with a smirk, always jumping to the bed when they've won a battle. She returned to her study at Night's Needle, finding the candles long since extinguished and the balcony doors opened to the dark new-moon night outside. A crisp breeze sent the curtains that stood over the balcony to sway back and forth, catching them in a way that made it seem as if they were ghosts from the dead that were forever caught in dance. She turned around and saw Shamarah and Druken beside one another, one looking perturbed and the other grinning at her with something along the lines of praise on her face.

"Well, you certainly did pull that one into play well, my Queen," Druken said first, shaking his head in dismay as he turned around and left the study in a blur of shadows and black. She frowned at his words, but she didn't have time to go chasing after him. He'll be back, she thought to herself as she turned her attention to Shamarah, who was only so happy to clap and dance in merriment of such a scheme.

"I know now why you are the Queen of the Night," Shamarah said wistfully, faking a dramatic swoon as a hand was brought to his forehead. "Oh, do cease the dramatics, you stooge," Shayle responded with a grin on her face, chiding and still remaining playful at the same time. "If you are going to swoon, please make it more dramatic." Shamarah nodded, still grinning, before he, too, vanished in an array of shadows and black. The study was left alone, save for the barghest who was sleeping soundly on the rug in the middle of the room, and Shayle, who had turned her attention to the balcony. She walked to it, grasping the railing with her small hands, and leaned on it to let the night wash over her. To a foreign traveler, she might look like an ethereal creature, with a dark faelight wrapped about her and the dark night bowing before her closed and up-tilted face. To one of her own, she was drinking in the darkness of Mother Night and reveling in her own moment of silence. Behind her, the barghest had lifted his head from seemingly sleeping and stared at her back. Its eerily intelligent eyes glittered from within the darkness that bound itself about it, their depths glowing an unnatural green glow. Something chuckled, unheard, within the study as an incorporeal presence brought more shadows and darkness into the room than seemed normal. The barghest continued its stare, as an armless hand stretched out from shadows about it and petted it benignly. She simply stared out across the Glomdoring Forest and watched the night's darkness, unknowingly being watched by goddess and barghest herself.

Edited: Because Shamarah isn't a girl. Who knew? >.<