There is always a chill presence in the hall of law, possibly in an attempt to keep the cold blood of the officials from boiling over. If it was intended so, it is in vain. Feuds between lords and officials are all too famously frequent, you would be hard-pressed to find a soul who hasn't heard least ten tales a piece, nevermind felt the sting themselves. The hall is a vast expanse cut into the base of Mont Ori, a work of monolithic proportion, a true marvel of not just architecture but magic. Six humongous pillars, arranged in a circle, hold the entirety of Mont Ori above. Sprawling narrow footways branch off in every direction from the pillars heading to countless levels above. This creation is one of the masterworks, left to us from the last age, the age of gods. I am informed that then they called this place the world tree. Runes are rooted into the walls, ceiling and countless footways. Shining six-pointed stars that wrap the stone in magic, bathing the hall in a constant glow. This amount of ambient energy around you causes a sort of pressure, it vibrates, resonating within all who have permission to enter. Of what I'm aware, the artificers who placed them designed the enchantments to strengthen the magic output of the officials and nullify all others. Needless to say, if someone had the conkers to attempt, they would be self-initiating their execution, swiftly. Personally, my first experience of the hall spun my stomach, nearly forcefully ejecting my morning meal. The space wholly encompassed my perception in a way that only the night sky had done as a child. The strange thing is, that located in the feeling, simultaneously throughout, is a kind of claustrophobia. I dare not think I could have explained in great detail at the time. It was time that gave easing and the understanding of the feelings. Though, I admit, morning after a night on the sauce with the boys, still in my early days, left my stomach to become overwhelmed; more than twice least. Obviously, all that is with me having permission to enter.

This day, in particular, the sun scorches the realm, and I find the still cool of the halls to be a reprieve as I enter astride Cromlen Frough, Archmage of the Magi. His escort peeled away at my behest, a subtle flick of the hand, picked up on in an instant. His unnecessary three kings guard, which is wholly ridiculous. This man, who is known informally as 'cannon of the realm', would most likely never need these men to protect him. However, this is not my reason for being here. To gain access to any of the corridors that branch from the hall a key is required, the keys of course are magic. Although, I do not know what they look like or how to use them. When a high official is elected, a key is passed, how only the high officials know. Walking directly at a wall, a door recesses silently from the surface where it had been seamless seconds earlier. A grand corridor engulfed the Archmage and I as we proceeded towards a spinning spiral staircase. No matter how many times I see these sights, I feel they shall perpetually marvel me. And so they should, only the Magi know some of the intricacies of the structure. Fewer still know its full layout. Besides both those reasons entirely, only officials or their guard are permitted; making the ability to behold it an honour and treasure. Even tainted by the snakes in charge as it is, it is still beautiful, it could never, not be beautiful to my comprehension. These thoughts bathe me every time I walk this structure. Once, I asked the Archmage his thoughts and recieved a reply of 'The proper question, I would say, is what the building thinks about you' and he stated it plain and matter of fact, looking all too pleased with himself, while answering absolutely nothing. These Magi tend to do that. I dare not think what kind of an impression a man can make on a building. Frough clears his throat grabbing my attention as he awaits at the base of the stair. I catch up the stoic individual, he simply nods and continues leading me higher up the staircase. Traveling a moving stair is much less taxing than without that is certain indeed. We climb to dizzying heights with ease, within a minute we reach the fourth-tier walkway and continue down another corridor, through another seamless stone door. The far end of this corridor flares out, flowing into a tall cylindrical room with a span of around 1000 strides. Six separate moving stairs wrapped the walls equidistantly, disappearing skyward. It was in this room I was supposed to find answers. I found residue of something rotten, not anything any man could call proof, nor anything anywhere near to something most would refer to as a clue. I noticed a kind of shift in behaviours around certain officials, of which two are not really of major concern. Both only having measly private forces and very few Magi, one or two at most a piece. Of greater concern moreover was the same shift in behaviour of Grand Inquisitor Vain Grandt, a man whom possesses not only a very sizable personal force, a force which are second in skill only to my own I may add. But, he also has a plethora of Magi and magic proficients In his service, as well as being in charge of the Inquisition and all those whose fall under it's mantle. Needless to say this is something I find greatly concerning. Something is going on, it stinks, and I'm going to sniff it out. So, I voiced my concerns the Archmage and he now shares them. That's why we are in this room. That's why we will talk to Magi K'eill Fondo, the most skilled practitioner of the farsight and insight magics. I too have the gift of insight, I have had it always. Although, I am not a Magi, so the resulting effect being that instead of true insight I get strong feelings, in my gut, you could say. I see patterns and make inferences from them, though how is somewhat unknown to me. Needless to say, my talents is nothing at all compared to real magic. Nothing compared to the ability of magi K'eill Fondo, who is now, in this very moment standing right before me. As I know not this man personally it is improper for me to be the first to speak but wanting the conversation now to start. I look to Cromlen, the first of his order, and upon noticing my non-verbal plea he starts to convey to Magi Fondo the meaning of our presence.

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"K'eill my old friend, I am here this day, to ask upon you if you have received any indications of"

"nonsense!" Magi Fondo exclaimed "I could never have wished to have claimed to be a friend of thee. Ha! You come here for my assistance and you start by attending to my plumage, you need not dispense such trifles. You were, after all, chosen by our master Jo'kler to succeed him as the Archmage of our order. If you have need of me, you are to but ask." The mage finished, lowering his head in submission quickly, realising he had spoke out of turn. Cromlen looked to me, like he was either going to laugh with a passion, shout in a fervourous rage or explode. However, this look lasted but a moment, then dissipated, as he continued. This time instead of speaking, he took his index, middle finger and thumb, placed them on his forehead; then pulled what I can only describe as a wisp of memory from it. Cupping it in his hands he then blew on it in the manner one would an ember, and in the same way a coal would react it's glow increased, allowing us to view his memory of me divulging my suspicions to him. This spectacle is unlike any magic I have ever witnessed, once again I find myself utterly awestruck. This day feels like it is made to remind me just how confoundingly powerless I really am. Below the structures of the branches of power, we all sit below these tremendous beings, even the politicos who's power have more than once threatened to tear nations. Lost in my thoughts I am, untill the spectral memory Cromlen had induced to the room fades.