Joroboros
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[YF] Chapter 251: Heights of the Pact Nations
🕑 Added 2024-12-20 10:01:20 +0000 UTCRemus leads us through the wide, arching hall of marble. Maybe, years ago, or if the circumstances weren’t so dire, I could have awed at the grandeur of it all. But not now. Countless cracks and seams spiderweb their way through the once polished stone walls. Imperfect iron struts reach between floor and ceiling, drilled into the marble every metre. They are an ugly addition. Even upon the already fractured stone, the pillars are out of place. An emergency measure to keep the castle from collapsing any further than it already has, I’m sure.
“Leal, right?” Remus asks as we approach the end of the hall. “I will have to ask that you wait outside.”
The ursu simply nods. She is not an official part of our envoy, nor is she a delegate of New Vetus, so including her in the meeting would likely be taken as an insult. We’re already pushing the boundaries by forcing this meeting early.
Standing guard outside the doors is a pair of Beiths. They glance over our group with uncertainty, but with a motion from Remus, they move to the sides and open the doors.
Immediately, voices raised in argument break the quiet.
“Have you not learned from the failures of the last Order?” a tall khirig with many floral patterns intricately carved through their antlers yells across the room. “Why have we not sent every last one of the Inner Circle already?”
“You would leave our head undefended?” a dohrni shouts back. His eyes floating in his spherical torso appear shrouded in a grey mist. He’d have to be the most tired looking I’ve ever seen one of his six-limbed race. “We have already seen the tactics the Empire employs with the collapse of our logistics. I’d rather not die to an assassin by next morn.”
Remus strides into the room, gesturing me and my elders to a series of seats that oppose the semicircle of gathered races. A small table stands beside each, but the space between seats is open and free of obstacle. Most eyes flick our way as we make our way to our provided seats, but the two in mid-argument remain oblivious.
“Assassinations will be the least of your worries if you lose the buffer against your territory,” the khirig, a woman, grouches. “Even before we lost that ice mage in the freak accident, we were coming into this war with the lower hand. Either we go all in and risk everything we have, or get buried before we can.”
As I take my seat, nestled between Yalun and Śuri, I glance around the room. Immediately, I can tell half the people here are indignant about our sudden, unannounced interruption, but my eyes don’t focus on them first. There are three people in the room, each standing in different corners, that exude strength. Neither do they stand out in the lighting, nor do I feel much of a presence from any, but I can just tell from a glance that they are more than normal.
An instinct? Maybe they hold a subtle command over their surroundings that only my subconscious can pick up. Regardless, these three are Inner Circle.
I don’t spot the ice mage I saw slaughter plenty of her own people during the war, but one of the arguers did mention an accident. Could she already be dead? While that’s technically not ideal considering the vulnerable state of the pact nations, I can’t say I’ll grieve her loss.
Two of the Inner Circle are clearly mages. Even inactive, their markings glow faintly, revealing an impossibly complex array of tattoos across their bodies. The last one, surprisingly, is a volan. She leans against a blade half way between a needle and a spear. It’s twice her body length, but considering her size doesn’t reach even half way to my knees, that isn’t saying much.
“That’s enough about the allocation of Inner Circle for now,” one of the skinniest dohrni I’ve seen says between a pair that glare at me for some reason. “The Order will proceed with sending the remaining elite mercenaries to hold off the Henosis invasion as soon as our gathered leaders are not all concentrated in a single place. Besides, we have guests.”
As if they’d been waiting for the invitation, the members of this meeting that had been glaring daggers at our envoy all jump into accusing us of arrogance and other such pointlessness. I just ignore them. Well, I try, until one decides to go too far.
“I knew the kin of Incendia wouldn’t be anything besides uncivilised brutes. If one of their young has been raised to burn cities and murder our members so casually, what can we expect from her seniors? I say we execute them here.” The albanic speaker waves to an Inner Circle mage.
It is all said in a conversational tone to the skinny dohrni by his side. I certainly wouldn’t have picked it up amongst the chorus of voices if I didn’t have better ears, so it’s a surprise when both my elders, Remus, and a many of the others in the wide chamber turn to the speaker. Albeit, most of the latter with an incredulous look one would give an idiot.
“We have been over this,” Remus grouches as he glares at the man. “Kalma was the cause of that fire. It was your predecessors that spun up fake accusations in order to control her.”
Oh, so he is the head of the Mercenary Order? I guess he, the skinny dohrni, and the volan still glaring at me are all a part of the Order’s high command.
“With how reckless and irresponsible she’s been, it would have been better if they had chucked a leash on her. She should have stayed to face trial. If she was innocent, then nothing would have come of it. Instead, she fled. In my eyes, that’s all the sign of guilt you need.”
Remus glares and begins to speak, but is interrupted by Śuri. “Solvei is one of ours. She will not come to harm, nor face punishment for crimes you believe she has commit. Fabricated or not. If you wish to execute us…” The grand elder glances around the room to the three Inner Circle mercenaries. “Try it.”
In an instant, the temperature in the room explodes. The unenhanced immediately begin sweltering, including the idiot Mercenary Order leader. The mercs snap into aggressive stances. Ready to attack, but not yet following through.
I want to throw my head in my hands and groan. Why does Śuri have to make this so much harder than it needs to be. Sure, I’m as irritated at the albanic as any other, but we have so many more important things to worry about right now.
The skinny dohrni — who thankfully seems to have some wits about him — waves a limb at the mercenaries, which thankfully returns them to a passive state. The heat is slow to return to normal, but it does after no attack follows in the next few seconds.
Another dohrni — one who’s remained quiet until now — claps a pair of tentacles. “Well, I believe we have started this meeting in the worst possible way. I apologise for the insults thrown your way, but you must understand that we are under immense stress at the moment. No one here would deny that our pact nations are in a desperate state.”
He glances around the room, as if inviting people to refute him. A good portion grumble under their breaths, or throw derisive glares, but they don’t vocally make their opposition known. Surely, none of them are happy to admit to an inferior position coming into talks; these are politicians, after all.
I suddenly notice Imiha sitting besides the current speaker. My surprise must be obvious, as her eyes twinkle slightly in amusement, before she waves the tip of a tentacle in greeting.
The former princess’ presence makes me glance over the rest of the attendees, to see if there’s any others I know. Unfortunately, there are none. A bulky albanic holds himself in such a similar way to Bunny, that I am certain he is from Vanguard. There is also the memorable sight of the rubber strip clad áinfean sitting with their thick tail off the side of the chair. It’s not Spenne, but it is a surprise to see one again. Another interesting sight is the inclusion of a mermineae amongst their talks. After the war, I never would have through they’d incorporate their kind into the pact nations, but here one is. Though, the slender being barely seems to be paying attention to the talks; more interested in some crack in the marbled ceiling then those around.
None of the other leaders or representatives appear all that interesting — or strong.
“Considering the circumstances, I think it best we get right into what we both want as soon as possible. But first I think it is important that we all have at least a basic understanding of each other,” the dohrni continues. “I am President Listis of Meja, and besides me is Pri—”
“I am Imiha, the opposition leader of Meja.”
It’s been a long time since I last spoke with the princess, so I’m surprised to see that she’s willing to work besides the man she spat so much hate towards back over the other side of the Alps. I guess the devastation of the Titan Alps combined with the war left no room for personal hangups to remain a problem.
The next to speak is the bulky albanic. He rises from his chair and pounds his chest as if to salute. “I am Commander Kautak of the Almighty Vanguard of the Free. Impious Defenders Against Corruption, Deceit and Vility.”
Huh. I kinda always assumed it was just called Vanguard. Nobody calls it anything else.
The rest of the attendees continue to introduce themselves. The áinfean leader of Sruthland. The ruler of Kizthak, a land already completely invaded by the Empire — which also happened to be the woman demanding all the Inner Circle be thrown into battle immediately. The rest are important figures of each other nation that makes up the whole of the pact. Many of which are simply representatives, and not their nation’s leaders themselves.
The mermineae still doesn’t talk. The others don’t bother them.
When it’s my elders turn to introduce themselves, I can clearly see the ones that turn their nose at the ‘primitive’ sounding societal structure. Thankfully, it’s only the representatives of nations I don’t even know the names of that act so obviously. If the others think along such lines, they are good at hiding it.
“Now that we are more familiar,” President Listis says, taking up somewhat of a spokesman role for the conference. “I must ask; are you even willing to join this war? I assume you have members equivalent to our Inner Circle, otherwise you wouldn’t push us as you did, but are you willing to risk them outside the borders of your homeland?”
“We are,” Śuri answers simply. Too simply for my taste, considering a major part of why they’re here is to strike back at the Henosis for what they’ve done to our tribes.
“Then what is it you want in return?”
“Mining exports,” Śuri starts, before going into depth on our full list of demands. Included is a rather strange sort of one-sided emergency immigration policy should the ocean bordering our deserts ever expand beyond what we can survive. They did a similar sort of thing with New Vetus, but I can’t imagine many of the tribes willingly leaving the sands for the rainy east unless it truly became impossible to live there.
“Finally, we should speak on the most important matter,” Śuri says, after laying down the rest of our requests. I doubt he will get them all, as the leaders will need time to discuss, but he doesn’t give them that freedom before he pushes on. “Solvei will tell you the details.” He gestures to me.
I whip my head back to him. This was never part of the plan. I’m not ready. But as I open my mouth to complain, I catch all the eyes in the room on me. As much as I don’t care about many of them, the last thing I want to do is come across as a scared child. Not when I know I’ve faced more than these unenhanced leaders.
This isn’t something I can just let Śuri speak of. To these leaders, he is just some outsider that knows nothing and could be spouting nonsense for all they trust him. I, at least, have been a part of their culture long enough to have a link to them. I fought in their war. Even those who don’t trust me know there’s weight to my word.
And so, I tell them of Armageddon.
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Sorry for the missed chap on monday. Christmas has been super busy for me. I have a bit of time off during Jan that i intend to push YF to 20 chaps ahead of RR.
Comments
Joroboros
:)
Summer Coff
*at least there was no bloodshed this time SO FAR
Joroboros
Hey, at least there was no bloodshed this time
Summer Coff
The more things change, the more they stay the same, it seems.
