Within The Silver City, a gloomy room, dimly lit by glimmering candles as to deter attention in the dead of the night, stirred with a steady stream of arrivals. A committee of assiduous Mali’thilln; architects, authors and diplomats stood by a round table, to plan sub rosa, for the future of their kin was tested and yet unresolved.
Outside the tower a great many more amassed in the dark. Some voiced worry for their woes, some voiced nothing at all. A crowd of Sillumiran, their armour illuminated beneath streams from street lamplights, patiently observed the square. This century of humiliation at the hands of foreigners, of their own people, had come to terminate in great tragedy. The Mali’thill were to be forced out of their sanctuary, their Karinah’siol, driven to flight.
It was clear to all the urgency and importance of the coming months.
In the gloomy room, the hushed assembly continued. The authors were keeping record when someone made a proposal, the diplomats gathered over drafts of new legislation and the architects evaluated sketches of new hallowed halls. . .