The soft, golden light of morning filtered through the council room’s grand windows, casting long shadows across the marble floor. The Jester, dressed in flamboyant colours that seemed too bright for such a solemn place, rose from his ornate chair with a flourish. With a mischievous grin behind his mask, he began to sway, his body moving with unexpected grace as he twirled through the room in a playful dance. A soft melody drifted through the air as Sofia played the piano in the corner, her fingers dancing delicately over the keys. Her music filled the room with a calm that belied the storm brewing beneath the surface. Now, as the light tune she had been playing still lingered in the air, her fingers paused on the keys, she watched the Jester continue his dance with amusement. She raised an eyebrow, a rare smile tugging at the corners of her lips.
“Ah, Sofia,” the Jester said mid-twirl, his voice light and full of cheer. “Have you ever seen the sunrise over the mountains of the Southern Peninsula? The way the light breaks through the treetops of the usually dark and twisted Whispering Woods, the birds singing their morning hymns? It’s a dance all its own, far more beautiful than anything we perform here. No wonder little Lucio wants to stay at the Blitz Estate all the time.”
Sofia sighed, leaning back on the piano bench, her fingers still resting lightly on the keys.
“No, I haven’t,” she admitted, her tone soft. “Not in years. Duty keeps me in this city, chained to matters of war and politics. I can’t remember the last time I saw anything beyond these wooden walls other than the port.”
“A shame, truly. You of all people deserve to see it. You work so hard.” The Jester twirled closer to her. “The world out there, the world we’re in… it’s alive. Even with the war, the countryside still hums with life, with possibility. And I’m not talking about respawn rates or agricultural development.”
“Possibility? Or just chaos dressed in a prettier form? You romanticise too much, Claudius.” Sofia chuckled quietly, shaking her head. “Or maybe you just don’t care much about order.”
“Perhaps,” he replied with a bow, his arms sweeping wide. “But someone must remind you all that there’s more to life than these endless meetings and battles. Maybe one day, Sofia, you’ll leave the city and see the beauty of the sunrises here for yourself again.”
“Perhaps,” she echoed, though her smile faded as her mind drifted back to the weight of her responsibilities.
The sound of the door creaking open interrupted their moment of levity. One by one, the other council members entered, and the room filled with the heavy presence of authority and tension. The Jester ceased his dance, slipping back into his chair with a silent grin as the tone of the room shifted, and the more pressing matters of the day began to unfold. Boring.
This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.
First, General Sofia Solo, the highest-ranked member of the Carnifex military, herself rose from the piano, her polished armour immaculate, the stern expression on her face a stark contrast to her earlier serene performance. She moved to the head of the table, signalling that the formalities were about to begin. Next came the Count of Prye, Vasili Mikhailov, a haughty man with sharp features and a thin beard, his cloak dragging behind him. He scowled as he took his seat, already impatient. Following him, the Baroness of the Dragon’s Arm, Vanessa Sallow, entered, her fiery red hair pinned up in a severe style. She carried herself with a confidence bordering on arrogance, a faint smirk curling her lips as she glanced at the Count. They were followed by the last member taking part in the hearing, Duke Herzog.
image [https://i.imgur.com/IHPVU3Z.jpeg]
“Thank you for coming on such short notice. As members of the Upper Echelon currently in the capital, you were summoned to fulfil your jury duty as a supplementary, neutral party to this matter of the High Council,” Herzog began, getting straight to business, reciting the function of the meeting.
Or the point to it.
“I don’t have time for this,” the Count grumbled, brushing a stray lock of hair from his forehead. “I am only in Nova Civitas because the King ordered more lumber, but that’s impossible. The frontlines are crumbling. If we don’t want to get overrun by those HU bastards, I will need more slaves for lumber production. Without them, we won’t have enough to reinforce the battlements.”
The Baroness scoffed. “More slaves? Do you even understand the situation we’re in? How will you feed them? The Players on the frontlines demand rations from Elevation One daily because their provisions keep running out. Meanwhile, my workers starve and have to deal with the Skornix infestations. But you know what real men do? They get the job done themselves, no matter the circumstance.”
The Jester started tapping the arms of his chair impatiently.
“Why do you think I’m here, Baroness?” Count Mikhailov asked, putting emphasis on her lower title. “I addressed this matter personally by coming to the capital to seek an audience with the king himself. I get the job done myself!”
“My men kill the Skornix and eat them!” the Baroness retorted. “How does that compare to your whining, Count?”
The Count bristled, his face flushing with irritation. “This is not the place to—”
“You’re jealous,” the Baroness cut in, her eyes gleaming. “Stewing over the fact that the Baron Bonatelli made the High Council without being a Duke? Honestly, Count, haven’t you realised that titles don’t make the man?”
“What?” The Count slammed his hand on the table, eyes blazing. “Why was I not informed of this? I demand answers!”
The Jester giggled from his seat, causing the others to momentarily glance in his direction. The Count’s outrage amused him, though his interest never strayed far from the dynamics of power playing out before him. This is getting interesting!