As we entered the Courtroom, my breath was instantly stolen by the sight that unfolded before me. Zeb glanced over, a knowing look in his eyes. "It's beautiful, isn't it? I remember my first time seeing the Royal Courtroom of the Immortal Lords," he reminisced.
The grandeur and mysticism of the place were interwoven, creating a setting that transcended the ordinary bounds of justice. The vast chamber, carved from ancient, whispering stone, pulsing with the life of faintly glowing runes and symbols that danced across its surfaces, casting an ethereal light throughout the room. At the heart of this mystical arena lay a grand, circular dais where the judge, an entity of venerable power and wisdom, presided over the proceedings, enrobed in garments that shimmered with the very fabric of the cosmos itself.
The courtroom expanded into an amphitheater, with seats hewn from a crystal that emitted a soft, colored light, imbuing the faces of the observers with an otherworldly glow. Most striking, however, was the jury's assembly area: a semi-circular arc embracing the room, equipped with 101 seats, each uniquely crafted from the elements of the magical world. Some seats were made of wood that still blossomed, others of solid air that hummed with energy, and yet others of stone that shifted in form and hue.
Above, the ceiling opened to the sky, its appearance shifting with the nature of the trial at hand—stars twinkling in judgment or clouds gathering with foreboding. The air hummed with the subtle chorus of the magical realm, its harmony adjusting to the mood of the proceedings.
The jury, a diverse tapestry of beings from all corners of the magical world, brought their unique perspectives to bear on the matters at hand.
"Come on, we need to check in and see where we are on the docket," Zeb whispered, guiding me forward. The courtroom was packed, with literally thousands of people filling the space. We approached the court reporter, a young-looking elf, and Zeb nudged me forward.
"Name?" the Court Reporter inquired.
"Barrister Pavrimax," I responded.
"Client's name?" they continued.
"Adventurer Aaron Kodija," I replied.
The Court Reporter noted, "You are third on the docket. Please have a seat in the Barristers' box."
Zeb and I made our way over, and I took the opportunity to introduce myself to the other Barristers. None of them were public defenders; they were all in private practice. The last Barrister I met was a fellow human, a comforting sight in this extraordinary setting.
"Hiyah," he said as he approached me, extending a friendly greeting. "My name is Luke Wexler." Luke towered over me, standing at about six foot five inches, with long, flowing blond hair reminiscent of an anime character. He was impeccably dressed in a sharp three-piece black pinstripe suit complemented by a blue tie. His sharp blue eyes, almost purple in hue, sparkled with a mischievous glint, and he wore a wicked grin. Extending my hand, I introduced myself, "Hi, I'm Julius Pavrimax. Are you from Earth?"
"Did the suit give it away?" he laughed.
"Kind of," I responded, a smile tugging at my lips.
"How long have you been in Anopia, Julius?" he inquired.
"About three days."
"Ahh, I've been here almost twenty years myself. When you get tired of working for the public, let me know. You can join my practice." He leaned in closer, lowering his voice, "We only allow humans to work with us, you know, to keep the undesirable folk like that Gungafisian that you're with at bay." I simply nodded, my enthusiasm dampening. Of course, I get sent to a new universe and run into a Racist bigot. "Are there a lot of humans here?" I asked, seeking to change the subject.
"We have our own planet in the Anopia system. We like it that way. We only come to AnaKaldroo when we absolutely have to. I try to settle most of my cases out of court, but, you know, can't settle them all." Again, I just nodded, deciding that, as much as I wanted to connect with fellow humans, I did not wish to visit that planet.
I went and sat down next to Zeb. He leaned over, his voice tinged with concern, "I'm guessing meeting a fellow human wasn't what you were hoping for." I struggled to articulate my thoughts, so I simply said, "Sometimes it's shocking how little people change, no matter where you are." Zeb nodded, understanding unspoken.
"I'm going to quickly go over a few things. You should watch these first few cases closely. I'll try to point out who's doing a good job. The first two cases are all between private practice Barristers, so they're usually pretty good. But remember, once you step onto the courtroom floor, a truth spell will be imposed on you. Don't fight it; you will lose. You won't be able to tell even the smallest lie. It's unsettling." I nodded, absorbing his advice.
"When your client comes, he will enter through the defendants' chamber on the right. We're kept separated so we can't influence each other. I've never really understood why since we're all under a truth spell, but it's a tradition. Remember, do not say anything until the Judge gives you permission, not even to say hello to Aaron. Everything you say will be on the official court record, and judges don't appreciate unnecessary dialogue cluttering it up. Even if you whisper to Aaron, it will be registered. If you try to write him a note, it will be registered."
"Gotcha," I affirmed, "so I'll only speak my prepared defense and nothing else."
"Exactly," he confirmed. "Now sit back, watch, and try to clear your mind of distractions. I know how nerve-wracking it can be going up there for the first time.
The courtroom buzzed with anticipation as the first case was announced, featuring Barrister Skrix Pebblefoot, a figure I had encountered earlier. Skrix was a distinctively short, blue goblin with a limp, clad in goblin chainmail. He was constantly chewing on something that bore a faint resemblance to chewing tobacco, albeit with a far more pungent aroma. Representing a large Goblin adventuring guild as the plaintiff, Skrix stood ready, a determined glint in his eye.
Opposing him was a barrister I hadn't had the pleasure of meeting—a tall, imposing figure with the appearance of a werewolf, representing a conglomerate of various Adventuring Guilds known collectively as an Adventuring Faction. Their clients bore the visage of creatures straight out of Earth's occult lore, including vampires, banshees, sirens, and more, each more intriguing than the last.
The moment the Judge made his entrance, the courtroom fell into a hushed reverence. Soaring to his dais on powerful wings, the Judge was a Dragonkin, his black scales gleaming brilliantly under the courtroom lights. His dragon fangs protruded menacingly from his snout, complemented by long, regal whiskers. Adorned in an elegant robe of white and purple, trimmed with gold, he carried with him an aura of immense power that resonated throughout the chamber. Yet, it was not merely his power that captivated the room; it was the sheer dominance and unspoken authority he wielded, surpassing that of any being present, including Senior Barrister Malhone.
As a Boartaur of even larger stature than the Senior Barrister stepped onto the dais, the room rose in unison at his command. "All rise for the Honorable Judge Draknavor Glazewind," he boomed, "who presides over today's session of The Royal Courtroom of the Immortal Lords. May all those with ill intention and deceit in their hearts be wary, for they will find no justice here. And may mercy be granted upon their souls." A palpable sense of solemnity enveloped the courtroom as he continued, "All those present will now be subjected to a truth spell."
As the Boartaur's words echoed through the chamber, a tangible shift occurred, the atmosphere thickening with the weight of impending judgment and the inescapable grip of truth. The stage was set for a day of legal battles unlike any other, under the watchful gaze of Judge Draknavor Glazewind, the embodiment of justice in its most formidable form.
The courtroom was charged with an air of anticipation as the first case of the day was brought before Judge Draknavor Glazewind. It was an antitrust case, centered around a Goblin Adventuring Guild whose name defied comprehension even with the aid of a language translation spell. Their grievance was multifaceted; they alleged that the Adventuring Faction had imposed exorbitant fees and restrictions on access to a labyrinth, thereby fostering a perilous environment. The labyrinth's monster population was burgeoning unchecked, they argued, posing a dire risk of escape and consequent havoc.
Furthermore, the guild contended that the Faction's policy of claiming up to eighty percent of the loot harvested from each delve erected insurmountable barriers. These practices stifled entry into the market, restricted adventuring choices, and hindered opportunities for growth, market expansion, and cultivation advancement.
The defense was quick to counter with an objection, presenting a multifaceted defense against the antitrust allegations. They argued that the Faction 1) unequivocally possessed the capability to ensure no monsters would escape, thereby maintaining safety and control; 2) implemented the fees and loot-sharing arrangements as incentives for delve teams to venture deeper into the labyrinth; 3) had procompetitive justifications for their actions, suggesting that other adventuring guilds could secure a larger share of the labyrinth's riches by running their operations more efficiently; and 4) pointed out that the complaining Adventuring Guild lacked the financial resources necessary for the upkeep and safety of a labyrinth entrance. The fees, they contended, were essential to cover the extensive costs incurred when other Adventuring parties utilized the labyrinth, preventing the Faction's own teams from delving. Lastly, they asserted that they had made sincere, good-faith efforts to solicit reasonable alternative offers that would maintain their assets in the market, posing a lesser threat to competition than reducing the cost of delving into the labyrinth.
With the presentation of their defense complete, both sides retreated to their respective seats, the courtroom falling silent as they awaited the Judge's response. Judge Draknavor Glazewind's roar broke the tension, his voice echoing through the chamber with authority. His gaze fixed on the Barrister for the Adventuring Faction, he declared, "You speak in half-truths. It is only through your skill that you are able to speak at all. Tread lightly." With a finality that resonated in the air, he announced, "This case will proceed to the presentation of evidence."
Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.
The gravity of Judge Glazewind's words settled over the courtroom, a reminder of the power vested in his position and the seriousness with which justice was pursued within the walls of The Royal Courtroom of the Immortal Lords.
Zeb leaned over with a keen observation. "The Defendants now bear a heavy burden in the eyes of the jury since the judge highlighted their penchant for half-truths. It's not an outright lie, but there's much more to the story than they're admitting. I'm sure they were hoping for a case dismissal. Juries can be unpredictable."
I nodded, absorbing Zeb's insights. The intricacies of courtroom dynamics were unfolding before me, and I was eager to see how the Plaintiff's case would unfold. Experience has taught me how easily a jury could be swayed or distracted, leading to unforeseen outcomes.
As Barrister Skrix Pebblefoot rose to present his evidence, the courtroom's attention sharpened. He called his sole witness, the labyrinth area's government treasurer and audit official—a Griffin named Minister Graceful Breeze.
Standing before the government official, Skrix inquired, "Minister Graceful Breeze, can you tell us how much profit the Adventuring Faction is generating compared to the expenses necessary to keep the labyrinth area safe from a monster outbreak?" The Griffin's reply, in a surprisingly squeaky voice, was illuminating: "They're making over two hundred and sixty-three percent more than what's needed."
Skrix's follow-up query delved deeper, "And with this exorbitant profit, how efficiently are they culling the monster population?" Minister Graceful Breeze responded, "They're barely keeping the monster level low enough to maintain a safe standard." To illustrate his point, the Minister conjured a bar graph with a spell, revealing that the monster population grew by about thirty percent each year while adventuring parties' delve runs had decreased by over forty percent annually, with success rates also declining. The Barrister continues to ask, why do you think they are trying to prevent adventuring guilds and parties from delving into the labyrinth? They do this so that they can make a higher profit and spend it on external Mana, giving them easier cultivation methods for growth.
"This evidence," Skrix pressed, "suggests they're restricting adventuring guilds and parties from delving to maximize their profits and spend it on external Mana for easier cultivation. What impact would another adventuring guild, opening their entrance with fewer restrictions and fees, have on this situation?" The Minister's slides changed, suggesting that a second entrance would significantly aid in monster population control and force the Adventuring Faction to either adjust their fee structure or risk going out of business.
Upon concluding his examination with a query about the Minister's recommendation, a loud, involuntary squawk punctuated the presentation's shift to the final slide. A second entrance would greatly help cull the monster population and split their focus allowing more successful delves. The cheaper fees would either force the Adventuring faction to match their fee structure and match the level of adventuring delves, force more of their adventuring teams to delve into the labyrinth or force them out of business. The Barrister asked a final question, in your professional experience and over twenty years being the Minister for the labyrinth what is your recommendation? The minister let out a loud involuntary squawk as the presentation moved to the next slide. “My recommendation would be to have two more entrances for the labyrinth one on the south end and East end. This will help promote the most economic value, and safety and will help cull the monster population, provide economic growth and overall greater Adventurer Cultivation growth.."
With no further questions, the Plaintiff rested their case. The sky above, now swirling with storm clouds, mirrored the courtroom's tense atmosphere. Zeb nudged me, drawing my attention to the jury's evident displeasure—a bad omen for the defense.
The Judge then invited the Defendants' Barrister, Lupar, to cross-examine the witness or proceed with their defense. "No questions for this witness, Your Honor," Lupar declined, opting to move forward.
"I'd like to call Faction Leader Vladimir Nightshade to the witness stand," Lupar announced. A tall, regal vampire rose to take the stand, exuding a dark, menacing aura that underscored he was not one to be trifled with. The courtroom held its breath as this formidable figure prepared to make his case.
Barrister Lupar positioned himself confidently before the witness stand. "Lord Nightshade, we appreciate you taking the time to speak with us today." A low growl emanated from the judge, a clear indication of his impatience.
Zeb leaned over to me, his voice a whisper of strategy. "Keep your questions short and to the point. Remember, we need to keep the record clean."
Taking the hint, Lupar proceeded with his questioning. "The Minister before you claimed that your faction is imposing these fees and prices to purchase external Mana, aiding your members' easier cultivation. Can you elaborate on this situation?" The vampire, Lord Nightshade, straightened up, his voice resonant. "While it's true the Faction benefits from using beast cores and other external mana resources for cultivation, maintaining the defenses of the labyrinth entrance incurs significant costs."
As he spoke, the clouds above darkened further, a visual testament to the jury's displeasure. Zeb whispered again, "More half-truths. The judge has granted the jury the insight to discern when half-truths are being spoken."
Lupar posed his second question. "The Minister suggested that adding two more entrances would be beneficial. Given your century-long guardianship of this entrance, do you have any professional recommendations?" Lord Nightshade responded with clarity, "While creating new entrances is an appealing idea, the logistical challenges and costs associated with ensuring safety for builders and adventurers alike render it infeasible, especially for novice guilds."
The judge remained stoic, offering no further reactions, as Lupar ventured his final query. "Lord Nightshade, in your opinion, does the Goblin adventuring guild possess the necessary tools to manage their own entrance?" This prompted Barrister Skrix Pebblefoot to stand abruptly. "Objection, relevance," he declared.
The judge issued a stern growl, "Objection sustained. Tread lightly, Barrister Lupar or the defense will be forced to rest."
"Yes, Your Honor," Lupar acquiesced before continuing, "Lord Nightshade, the Minister mentioned the growing discrepancy between the monster population and adventurer activity. Can you provide further insight?" Lord Nightshade sat up, his voice carrying a note of regret. "Regrettably, adventuring parties prefer easier rifts with better profit margins. This economic reality constrains our ability to adjust prices."
"Thank you, Lord Nightshade. The defense rests Your Honor," Lupar concluded.
The judge then turned to Barrister Skrix Pebblefoot. "Are there any questions you wish to pose to Lord Nightshade?"
Rising, Skrix Pebblefoot affirmed, "Only one question, Your Honor." With a nod from the judge, he proceeded.
"Lord Nightshade, have you undertaken any actions to make the profit margins from delving into the labyrinth less favorable compared to other rifts?" A tense silence enveloped the courtroom as the vampire lord struggled internally, his face a battleground of emotions. Finally, in a voice barely above a whisper, he admitted, "Yes." Despite the softness of his confession, the courtroom's enchantments amplified his answer, ensuring every word was heard clearly by all present.
As both sides concluded their presentation of evidence, the Boartaur returned to the dais, signaling the next phase of the trial. "We will now hear final remarks from both sides," Judge Draknavor Glazewind announced in a stern voice. "The plaintiff will proceed, followed by the defendant."
Barrister Skrix Pebblefoot rose to address the jury, encapsulating the essence of their struggle. "Today, you've heard about the challenges our guild faces, along with many others, due to prohibitive costs. It's the mandate of every adventurer to safeguard our society from monsters seeking to wreak havoc. Unfortunately, this Adventuring Faction prioritizes personal growth over their duty to protect us. This cannot continue. We seek to dismantle this antitrust violation to foster a more economical environment, enhance safety, and curb the monster horde."
After his impassioned plea, Skrix Pebblefoot resumed his seat. Barrister Lupar then took the floor, casting the Goblin adventurers in a different light. "For over a century, our Faction has held the monsters at bay, with many of our members sacrificing their lives. Yet, we must also sustain our business to compensate our brave members. These Goblins underestimate the complexity of maintaining a labyrinth entrance; granting them such responsibility could result in dire consequences."
The judge's growl cut through the courtroom, signaling his impatience with the half-truths. Undeterred, Lupar concluded, "The fees we impose are essential for our operations," before sitting down.
The Boartaur announced the jury's deliberation, and with a flash of light, they vanished to cast their votes.
Zeb leaned over to me, his voice low. "What did you think of the case? It seemed like the Defendants were hiding a lot more than they shared." A sarcastic chuckle echoed to our left; Luke Wexler was observing us. Zeb turned his head towards Luke. "Would you like to share your opinion, Barrister Wexler?"
Luke didn't acknowledge Zeb. Instead, he addressed me directly. "Julius, I'm sure you're a smart man. Just one look at those dirty Goblins should tell you they can't be trusted. While I'm not a fan of the Occult faction, I've worked with them before. I believe we should be rewarding them for their service, not putting them on trial. The half-truths that the Judge is upset about are merely to protect their business secrets. Hopefully, the jury is smart enough to see that, like you and I."
His response stirred a visible upset within me, yet I responded calmly. "It seems your prejudice has clouded your logic on this matter." Luke glared at me. "Perhaps you need more time here to understand. When you see the light, come seek me out." With that, Luke returned to his seat, while a few other barristers gave me nods of respect. I turned to Zeb, "I'm sorry about him." Zeb placed his hand on my shoulder. "No need to apologize. I know you're not like him."
A second blinding light flashed, signaling the jury's return.
The Boartaur approached the dais. "All rise as Judge Draknavor Glazewind's courtroom is back in session."
The jury foreman stood up. Judge Draknavor Glazewind addressed him. "Sire Foreman, has the jury come to a deciding vote?" The foreman's voice filled the room. "Yes, Your Honor, we have." The Judge prompted him further, "Please read the vote and state the verdict." "A vote of 98 in favor and three against. The verdict is in favor of the Plaintiff." The Judge banged his gavel, and a shower of golden light emanated from it. "It is time for me to rule on the damages the Defendant owes to the Plaintiff." The Faction Members, with Lord Nightshade at the forefront beside their Barrister, all stood.
"The damages owed will be as follows," the Judge declared. "One Million Platinum bars are owed to the Plaintiff, and you must also assist the Goblin Adventuring Guild in building their own labyrinth entrance." With the damages pronounced, he magically sealed the court record and dismissed both parties.
The courtroom once filled with tension, now buzzed with discussions of the trial's implications, marking a significant moment in the Royal Courtroom of the Immortal Lords.
The courtroom's atmosphere shifted rapidly as two new parties made their way to the forefront, each side ready to present their case before the judge. Representing the plaintiff was Barrister Knucic, whose resemblance to Tails from Sonic the Hedgehog was uncanny. His client, a Bankrupt Settlement Lord, bore the imposing form of an Oni Demon, a figure of considerable power now facing financial ruin.
Opposite them stood the defendant's counsel, Barrister Lingyu, a large Tortoise whose steady gaze and calm demeanor contrasted sharply with the fiery aura of the plaintiff's party. Lingyu was there to defend a bank accused of engaging in predatory lending practices that had allegedly cornered the Oni Demon into a financial dead end, with interest rates spiraling beyond control.
No sooner had the basis of the complaint been outlined than Barrister Lingyu rose to challenge the proceedings. "Objection," he stated firmly. "The plaintiff lacks the proper standing to bring a case to this honorable court. He has been stripped of his lordship title, is neither an adventurer, a business owner, a landowner, nor does he represent a nine-member party."
The judge, without hesitation, brought down his gavel in agreement. "Objection sustained, case dismissed. The plaintiff is ordered to pay twenty-five percent of the damages sought in the complaint, plus five hundred gold for each day since the filing, which totals ten days, to the defendant."
The Boartaur, acting as the court's herald, announced the dismissal with a voice that resonated through the chamber. "This case has been dismissed, and both parties are dismissed. Next case."
It was my turn to stand, but I wasn't alone in rising; Luke, too, got up simultaneously. As our eyes met, he offered me a smirk, a silent challenge that hung in the air between us. The moment was charged with anticipation, a prelude to the legal battle that was about to unfold.