QuiteTheSlacker
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Chapter 47: Around the Round Table
🕑 Added 2024-06-04 07:27:41 +0000 UTC“A nation’s territory is only as wide as a ruler’s capability to maintain it. I oversee all of Polus, but it is inevitable that my influence weakens the farther away one travels from the capital, and it is within these lawless lands that communities unbound by lordship or allegiance call home. They are nomads, wanderers, and people of wholly differing cultures. To them, the war is of no concern. Their only wish is to live in peace, hidden away from the world’s conflicts.
“The previous Kings and Queens of Polus have respected this wish since time immemorial, and so it is that we co-exist in mutual harmony. We do not interfere with their matters, and in turn they stay away from our fields. There is a clear, set boundary, and it is very rare for it to ever be broken.
“But, one day, a baby was born amongst the desert tribes near the Polus-Augurium border. That baby was Joshua, and he was the only survivor of a brutal civil war. His people were slaughtered, their blood dyed the sands red, and his mother breathed her last upon delivering onto the world a small, frail child. Joshua should have died there that day, but as if by some divine intervention, a Polus delegation came across his wailing cries. And thus he was saved by the late King Dainsleif who then raised him as a son.
“Yahweh means ‘miracle’ in the desert tongue. His majesty gave Joshua that last name, for his existence was truly a miracle. But not everyone agreed with the King’s decision, and even now, there are those in the court who still deny him to be one of our own.
“It is regrettable, for I believe he has the constitution of a leader. If I were not thrust into this position, if the Monarch’s Wings had not chosen me, then perhaps Joshua would have taken my place. Alas, blood is rooted too deep in this nation, but I do not lament his origin: Joshua is who he is now because of his experiences. His struggle for acceptance.”
King Ascalon, Ruler of the Polus Monarchy
———
The Knight
The courtroom has swiftly transformed since Ascalon’s order to recall the Templars. Where once was but empty space in the center is now occupied by a grand, circular table of jewels. It is a very shiny sight, and a familiar one as well, for this is the same table Arthur once gathered his adjutants around.
The Knight hasn’t expected to see such an old thing still around, but that is the nature of the world, or so it supposes. Man’s products do ever tend to outlive their creators. It is no surprise, for they are a fleeting kind—leading lives so very short. And yet, in that brief period of existence, their journey is remembered in the form of a fable. A legend, one spanning for all of eternity.
It can still remember them clearly: those seven warriors and their lord. The Templars the Knight has met so far matches their ancestors similarly in regards to personality - with the exception of Surasha - but they do have their own traits separate from blood’s legacy. Yes, it knows their habits well, for it has spent the latter days stalking them intensely throughout the castle.
Deborah is a lively girl. She completes her tasks in a nonchalant and gentle manner whilst always ensuring to trap those nearby into a lengthy, inescapable conversation: a conversation that usually amounts to unimportant small talk or purposeless ramblings. She dislikes sweet food. Her weakness is mediocre muscle balance—neither area of the body particularly honed. A swift rush into close quarters combat should be all that is needed to render her vulnerable.
Dismas is a solitary man. And perceptive as well. The Knight has had slight difficulty in trailing the Dominion’s head, for his sight extends to the shadows in every corner, and he prefers to handle his work isolated from the others in his private chamber. Still, he has his warmth; the moments when Dismas does take leave is when his fondness is fully displayed in the short interactions with his fellows. He prefers dried nuts. His weakness is feeble core strength, resulting in poor posture and a lax slouch. A blow to the abdomen will leave him paralyzed.
Surasha is meticulous—very meticulous. Every day, she organizes a daily list of tasks and determines the most efficient order of completion: the estimated time it shall take, contact information of those involved, and so on. She follows this list with rigorous precision, and very rarely does she veer off her intended schedule. This unwavering nature has inspired both awe and bafflement from her peers, but nonetheless they treat Surasha with great respect. She avoids starches and grains. Her weakness is subpar physical strength, of which she makes up for with a flexible body and swift mobility. Recommended course of extermination: overpower her with an unrelenting assault.
These three do not often have chance to meet amidst their respective duties, but they have gathered here now, for today is when the last four Templars are set to arrive. Even Annalay has been released from her cell for this occasion, and she stands side by side along the Knight as they accompany Ascalon by the throne.
Her usual brash demeanor has disappeared, replaced by a grim expression. Her sentiment is shared by the others in the room; they know the kingdom’s fate lies on the fringes, and this assembly shall be its turning point.
“… Ack, this tension is killing me,” Deborah groans, letting her head thud onto the table as she buries herself in her arms. “I thought I would be happy seeing the others after so long, but the mood just isn’t right.”
“You’re concerned about the wrong things, Deborah,” Surasha says with a sigh, but her body betrays an otherwise stern tone. She leans deep into her seat, foot tapping restlessly against the floor, and her hands grip her knees firm as she shifts about uncomfortably in a guarded position. “Of course we’re all tense. For Stars’ sake, this is the first time in decades that all the Templars and Thrones will be in one place. Nevermind that we’re leaving the front line completely unguarded, to think we’re even considering pushing into Caelum territory. If this goes wrong, our nation will literally be wiped from the map. Try to be a bit more serious about this.”
“Now, now, go easy on ‘er, lass,” Dismas interjects. Compared to the other two, he appears to be the most composed, but there is still a subtle hint of concern in his gruff voice. “It’s hard to believe myself—that we’re finally tryin’ to fight back. Can’t say I’m against it, though; we can’t stay like this forever. Eventually, we would’ve had to change things, and when better to do so than the moment that bastard Xeros is off to foreign lands.”
“Gahah! I agree with the man,” Annalay guffaws. “Fancy timing, too: I was just about tired of defending all the time. Besides, do ya really think we’ll fail? The old crow only has Libevich and that alchemist freak Nokron left. Gravitas would’ve been a bit troublesome, but I heard he’s rotting in the Aeternum right now thanks to a lovely lady over here.”
“Hehe, you honor me, Annalay,” the Knight says. “But do not let overconfidence take you. It is good to be prideful, but war is volatile—full of surprises and hidden dangers. Too much pride will instead act as a poison. We should remain cautious - especially towards one so shrouded in uncertainty as the Grand General - and plan for the unexpected, no matter how unlikely it may be.”
“Well said, Lorelai,” Ascalon chuckles. “And that is why we are here now. To plan. To devise. And to ensure without a shadow of doubt that this campaign will end in victory. Everything must be infallible, and there is no better method to assess possible variables than in the company of others. Even just one more perspective can be the defining factor in our success.”
So he says, but the Knight has already devised an efficient plan of attack. From geography to available forces and even locations of the Caelum fortresses… it has studied this all, and this meeting shall be the moment in which its efforts’ culmination be given stage.
Still, it is not so bad to allow the others speak their minds first; it will be especially insightful in gleaming the natures of the others yet to arrive.
If the Templars in the capital are responsible for defense, then the Templars of the frontlines are suited for warfare. Naturally, their dispositions will reflect as much, and they will be all the more difficult to control. But no one is bereft of weakness. All the Knight must do is find it.
Suddenly, the air around them begins to shake and vibrate with anticipation. There is a great energy radiating from beyond, and it now trickles into the room with an intensely powerful aura. No, multiple, for they are of different qualities, all coinciding together with their own distinct characteristics.
One roars afury with the impassioned ardor of molten magma.
One whispers a deceitfully serene song of glacier and brine.
One is enveloped by a myriad swarm of Creation and its blessings.
And the last is barely intelligible. Small. Subdued. To the untrained observer, one would be unable to distinguish it between the other presences, but the Knight isn’t fooled. It can feel it—a cunning, shifty wisp hiding amidst its peers, softening its intent so as to mask the ambition lying beneath. That aura is different from those of the Polus. It is much more cold, more calculating, and detached from all worldly affairs.
Among all the Knight has met so far, even the maniacal Satanael, the source of this unsettling chill is by far the most dangerous. For they are not ruled by madness: not by emotion or patriotism or even simple desire. No, whoever this may be is utterly, wholly apathetic. Uncaring. The complete opposite of Ascalon.
The chamber’s doors part way, and an eager herald emerges from the gap with a long scroll trailing behind.
“Eh-hem, ladies, gentlemen, and his majesty of the court,” they decree. “Entering the esteemed knights of the round table’s lineage. Please bid a warm welcome to the four warring Templars.”
The herald quickly shuffles to the side, and in his place are the silhouettes of the final attending leaders of the Order.
