Chapter Six:
The chambers that housed the Council of Celestial Seers left nought to the imagination. Starry black banners hung from the walls, each proudly bearing the emblem of the confederacy: a red and white, eight-pointed pinwheel star ✵. At one side of the room was a lectern, facing in towards that lectern was a large, marble table in the shape of a crescent, behind the crescent table were twenty chairs arranged in four sets of five. On the other side of the room was seating for members of the public to curiously observe the governance of the confederacy taking place. Knights of the Order stood unmoving, the armour they wore was light blue with golden detailing, designating them as Celestial Cavaliers – elite Knights of the Order.
Ser Drakonsarius had never been in the room before now, he stood behind Drajir without moving a muscle. Around him sat the other nineteen exalted Seers, older gentlemen mostly. The twenty-first stood at the lectern, he looked completely at ease. Unlike the other twenty Seers, who wore robes of white, he wore red robes, presumably to further denote his role as tiebreaker. Next to him stood a young man in robes of a lighter red, he holds a silver staff.
The twenty-first Seer nods at the staff bearer who panics and bangs the staff on the floor. “T-The first topic of tonight is a proposal for Cerulean aid to the Anarchist Wastes of Umbracrest.” There is a pause, possibly for dramatic effect, and then... “Begin!”Thee staff bearer shouts.
Drakonsarius watched, his visor portraying nothing as to his thoughts. Drajir shot out of his chair with shocking speed for someone his age and stood. There was a bang as the announcer brought the weighted end of his staff down on the foor. “The Council of Celestial Seers recognises Seer Drajir of the First Quadrant!”
“The Celestial forces have commanded us to show respect to our neighbouring regions for centuries,” Drajir declared, his words carrying the weight of divine duty. “Umbracrest, after fifteen years of turmoil, deserves our assistance as an act of divine mercy.” The other four Seers of the first quadrant applauded him, clearly they all agreed with Drajir.
A stern looking Seer on the opposite end of the crescent rose. A long grey beard adorned his face, one of his eyes had a scar going across it, and was milky-white – the man was half blind. Drakonsarius wondered if he might be the Warper, Drajir did not suspect the Seer, so he doubted it.
“The Council of Celestial Seers recognises Seer Tumultus of the Second Quadrant! ” declared the announcer. “We must refrain from interfering in the regional affairs of Umbracrest" Tumultus declared, his voice resonating through the great hall. "Each region should navigate its own destiny, and our focus should be on maintaining the sacred nature of our own." The scared, bearded man sat back down like Drajir, he received applause from his peers, unlike Drajir he also received it from Seers at other parts of the table.
The Dragoon highly doubted the warper would be this Seer, as did Drajir from what he had told him on the way to the chamber.
A third Seer stood, this one presented a timid demeanour, he looked like an especially docile grandfather. Another bang from the silver staff. “The Council of Celestial Seers recognises Seer Olivam of the Third Quadrant!”
“Our fellow beings suffer in the chaos of Umbracrest," Olivam proclaimed, her voice carrying a tone of compassion and urgency. "Saving lives and alleviating suffering should be our paramount concern, guided by the principles of compassion and divine mercy." Olivam sits down awkward applause. Drakonsarius didn’t even think about the Seer whose name sounded a bit like “Olive”.
The next Seer stood, a powerfully built man with a face like a bee. Hee seemed to be distantly related to a thunderstorm judging from his temperament.
“The Council of Celestial Seers recognises Seer... S-S-Sanguinem of the Fourth Quadrant!” came the terrified introduction.
“Fellow Seers, what transpires in Umbracrest is nothing short of sacrilege! Anarchist Enclaves, Warlords, and Crime Syndicates vie for dominance, flaunting their contempt for divine order. The Biological Superweapons unleashed in the civil war fifteen years ago were a despicable affront to the celestial forces! The chaos we witness is a divine punishment, a reckoning that must be allowed to unfold without our interference!” The point was screamed so loud, with its speaker one step away from foaming at the mouth, that the entire second quadrant had shrunk low into their chairs, cowering in fear.
All but one Seer, and all the public in the seating burst in tremendous applause. Seer Drajir defiantly refused to applaud, the only one with the spine to do so. The Knight thought that the Warper would be far more subtle than screaming in rage, so it definitely wasn’t the man with lungs of steel and a face like a beet.
There was no more points from the Seers, and this the voting began. In ended with ten in favour, and ten opposed, a tie.
The Staff of the announcer banged down three times “The Council of Celestial Seers recognises Seer Fictus, the Tiebreaker!”
Seer Fictus, with the practiced charm of a skilled orator, addressed the Council, weaving words like a master of manipulation. “Esteemed Seers of the Celestial Council, we stand divided on the issuse of intervention and restraint. Our sacred duty calls us to weigh the delicate balance of divine principles and mortal affairs. In the realm of Umbracrest, chaos reigns, and yet, we must ponder whether our interference aligns with the celestial forces’ intricate design.”
His voice, smooth and flowing, resonated through the chamber, monopolising the attention of the assembled Seers. Fictus continued, “Let us not forget the profound wisdom the confederacy was given centuries ago. Each thread of destiny is woven with purpose, and perhaps, in the turmoil of Umbracrest, a higher plan unfolds – a plan beyond our mortal comprehension. To intervene recklessly would be to challenge divine will itself.”
He cast his vote against intervention. Cerula would leave Umbracrest to its own devices.
Fictus had a sly smile spreading across his face, leaving Ser Drakonsarius with a lingering suspicion. Fictus just seemed wrong, of all the Seers in the room, only he seemed at ease, smirking to himself as if he knew something everyone else did not. The debate dragged across another three topics before concluding.
Drajir turned around just as fast as he had shit out that seat when the final bang of the staff ended the debates for that day.
“The Covenant may have a hand in the chaos that plagues Umbracrest, and Fictus may be more intertwined with it than he lets on.” He cast a cautious glance around to ensure no prying ears overheard. “I implore you, investigate further. Follow Fictus!”
Seer Fictus had left the chamber, the announcer nervously following behind him. Drakonsarius followed him into a small chapel, it was empty apart from Fictus and the announcer, who looked supremely uncomfortable. As he drew closer to the pedestal where they stood he realised that the twenty-first Seer had know he was following him. Fictus had turned, small black eyes looking directly at his visor. “My child, it seems the divine currents have led thou to my humble abode. What troubles thy noble heart in these challenging times?” His voice carried a gentle reassurance, his eyes portraying a mystical wisdom.
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Fictus extended an offer, “Would you allow me to offer my prayers for your guidance? Divine assistance often unveils itself in unexpected ways. Together, we may find solace in the celestial forces that guide our lives.”
Ser Drakonsarius stared back into those small black eyes, they were pool of ink in a seemingly benevolent clergyman. “Thou already know why I am here, Seer” the knight said, drawing his poleaxe.
The Seer nods in agreement, he turns towards the young announcer, “Son, may I have the honour of examining thy staff?” the announcer hands it over, his hands shaking. The staff gleams in the light of the Chapel, as do those inky, beady eyes as the Seer says “Good lad, thou deserves a small blessing.”
Fictus swung it at the man’s head, amplified by some unseen force to the point that the blow caved his head in, and young man fell to the ground, dead. The door behind the rather tense Dragoon slams shut, a large man wearing black robes emerges from the corner, he holds a massive two-handed sword in one hand.
Seer Fictus coldly tells the knight “Thou hast stumbled upon a truth, my child. I am the Warper, and thou will not prevent the will of Æraxis” He turns his gaze to the cultist, commanding, “Strike him down, as the Great Maelstrom wills it.”
The chapel echoed with the clash of steel as Drakonsarius faced the towering acolyte. The two-handed sword swung with brutal force, aiming to crush the knight beneath its weight. In a display of agility, Drakonsarius sidestepped the lethal arc, his poleaxe poised for a counter.
Seizing the opportunity, the knight launched a sweeping low strike, attempting to disarm his formidable adversary. The acolyte, surprisingly agile, parried with skill, thwarting the attempt. The battle unfolded in a dance of blades, each strike met with strategic blocks and evasive footwork. The acolyte unleashed another thunderous overhead strike, Drakonsarius patiently waited, his eyes keenly observing. With precise timing, the knight’s poleaxe hooked around the sword, disarming the acolyte in a stunning twist. Now weaponless, the acolyte roared in frustration, resorting to bare-knuckle brawling against a foe in full armour. Undeterred, Drakonsarius expertly dodged and countered, exploiting the acolyte’s vulnerability. With a final, well-aimed strike, the axe head of the poleaxe cleaves through the big cultists head, he collapsed to the chapel floor with a chrash. Breathing heavily, Drakonsarius turned back to confront the Warper in the wake of the fight.
Seer Fictus, now revealed as the Warper, tries to unleash his reality-warping powers upon Drakonsarius, but he is interrupted by a dagger to his side, the unseen assailant is gone as quickly as they appeared. Fictus has been weakened enough to prevent him using his powers, he looks up from the ground, the smile has been replaced by a grimace of pain.
As the wounded Warper faced Drakonsarius, a defiant gleam in his eyes, he spoke with an air of pity. “My death changes nothing. The Covenant of the Void is inevitable. You cannot thwart the Great Maelstrom or the other entities of the Æbyss.”
Drakonsarius chooses to question the sixth's motivations, like he had with the seventh “Why become the Warper? What drove you to this?”
The reply was simple, and straight to the point “I was shown that I was praying to the wrong gods” that sly grin from earlier had returned, “A glorious Æther Era approaches” he said, closing his eyes. The poleaxe speared the Warper in the throat, he gave out a gurgle, and lay still.
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A female voice rang ou. It had an angry, unstable tone. “Thou cannot win, Dragoon. I will see thou soon.”
The knight looked over his shoulder, but there was nothing there. He made his way back to his airship, wondering who had said that.
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