Chapter Eleven:
Drakonsarius waited in the room they called the "Delegation Chamber", all around him were what he took to be historical items, he had removed his helmet and sank into a comfortable plush chair when he had entered, but had gotten bored and started examining the things around him rather quickly.
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Drakonsarius approached a vast map encased in glass, meticulously displaying the subregions of Narciss. Each region was marked in the old style, with a compass rose in the bottom left corner with the Northeast portion in gold.
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Worcestershire had its capital Worcester noted with a golden marker, the rest with silver. Luxequinox, known for its intellectual pursuits, had Cogitare. Valerium, the agricultural heartland, Agricultura. Xyrolith, renowned for its crystal mines, showcased Crystalia as its capital. Chalcrystis, the cultural region, had Aurea Urbs.
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The Crystal Mountains in Xyrolith were marked with a distinctive emblem, denoting their importance in the region's geography and also as one of Empyrea's wonders. Drakonsarius traced his finger over the glass, thinking that the map was probably out of date in some areas, but nonetheless, beautiful.
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There was a shortened version of the treaty that formed the Earldom of a Narciss, the case proclaimed it was shortened replica, but it was a long, rather boring piece of dated legal droning that the knight rapidly stopped reading.
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A large tapestry near the door looked far more interesting to the knight, so he went over to it. The plaque below stated that it was a depiction of the Battle of the Golden Bay.
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The Dragoon studied it closely, he could see soldiers engaged in skirmishes with mounted cavalry in costal villages, above that several airships could be seen slugging it out in brawls, some were on fire and one falling into the bay. Drakonsarius could see a miniature officer - bleeding from a slash across his chest and a stab wound from a knife - forever frozen just before he delivers the killing blow with a sabre to a Dragoon-Knight with heavily damaged plate armour and no helmet.
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Drakonsarius remembered that Worce had told him that a Knight had nearly killed him in the Coalition War and wondered if it could possibly be him. The Dragoon dismissed the thought as unlikely.
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Ser Drakonsarius noticed a banner with a shattered golden sun on a white background. It seemed very significant, and yet lacked a plaque stating what it was. The knight looked at every fracture in the golden sun, trying to grasp the meaning. He reaches out and touches the fabric, and he recalls seeing the current Narcissian flag on the way to the Worcestershire Administration Complex, a golden crest on a white background. Was this an older version of the flag?
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A playful feminine voice rings out abruptly, cleaving through the silence with ease and startling the knight " The Dragoon's confidence in spotting a fake must be as authentic as Earl Ego's banner itself."
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Drakonsarius, deep in contemplation of the banner, is jolted by the sudden playful voice. His hand instinctively grips the hilt of his sword as he swiftly turns towards the source, his eyes narrowing in a mixture of surprise and vigilance. But there is nothing there when he looks around. Confused, Ser Drakonsarius removes his hand from the swords hilt and sits back down in that comfortable chair from earlier.
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The Vizier materialises from behind a tapestry. She has striking grey eyes that missed nothing. Her dark auburn hair did not contrast with the simple but elegant white clothing she wore. The knight had expected a sneering woman dripping in jewellery, making snide comments about his noble Order.
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"That banner is a forgery. The first Earl of Narciss would've never settled for anything less than an authentic masterpiece, with a touch of his grandiosity, of course. Imagine a banner so magnificent it could outshine the sun. The original is in the Earl's private residence, of course."
The knight tries to say something respectful, but the words die in his throat. The region wide stereotype of all narcissians having colossal ego's or acting superior evidently did not always apply.
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She chuckles, "Don't worry, Ser Knight, I'm as real as they come. Not another semi-boring artefact in this room, just me."
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The knight fights to maintain a stern look, "Rectess Anastasia Romanenkov, I presume? I was told thou would help me."
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The voice now playfully feigns a hint of hurt, "Oh, Ser Drakonsarius, must we jump straight to business? Have thou not admired the portraits? They do seem to conform to the stereotype thou art desperately attempting to apply to me."
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Ser Drakonsarius, puzzled, responds, "Portraits? I must admit I didn't notice any. Where are they?"
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Rectess Anastasia cheerfully leads Ser Drakonsarius to the portraits, providing insights along the way.
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"Behold the first Earl, Ego, the 'Great Unifier.' Quite the charismatic figure, as history tells." She motions to the first portrait. "Then comes Earl Emeric, famously known as 'the Arrogant.' His ego rivalled only by his father's, no doubt."
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"Followed by the wise Countess Seraphina, who forged ties with Umbracrest." She points to a pale woman.
She continues her lively commentary, so much so that Drakonsarius can only nod "Earl Aurum, assassinated by his daughter and exarchs. Countess Icaria, whose tale eludes me in the realm of interest, probably boring anyway."
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"This is Earl Magnus, whose death sparked cheers among the populace." The Rectess points at an intimidating man holding a cruel-looking war scythe.
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"Countess Nyctra, my personal favourite - a woman of mystery and allure."
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"Earl Ignatius, who led through the Coalition War, he was probably posioned or something by his ambitious son. And now, our current leader, Earl Bigot. They say he might turn into Worce because he has led Narciss into what may be its golden age, no one hates him, and his son had yet to return from hunting some rare thing."
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Anastasia grins, her grey eyes sparkling with a mischievous light. "Quite a colourful history, yes?" Drakonsarius thought that a certain comment was strange. "Bigot might turn into Worce?"
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"Turning into Worce, of course, being a euphemism for becoming very, very old. But we shan't dwell on the gloomy subject of glorious war heroes turning into grumbling statesmen."
Ser Drakonsarius decided that the playful diplomat would have him talking to her all day if he didn't do something "What can thou tell me about the Conclave of Viziers?"
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Anastasia seems bored by the question but begins her description nonetheless, "The Conclave of Viziers is a diverse assembly, consisting of various individuals who hold significant influence within Narciss. Among them, thou shalt find military representatives, Lords, Ladies, Baronesses, and Rectesses. It serves as an advisory body to the Earl, providing counsel on matters of governance, diplomacy, and regional stability, and the likes"
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"Who currently leads the Conclave of Viziers?" Drakonsarius inquired.
The semi-bored expression did not quite vanish as she responded, "The Conclave is currently guided by the capable hand of Rectess Olga Alexandrov. She is the Grand Vizier and is, therefore, the Earl's direct advisor."
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Drakonsarius, contemplating the possibility of the Puppetmaster's identity. With a hesitant smile, he admitted, "I must confess, Vizier, I may be on a mission to eliminate a threat to Narciss. The Puppetmaster, a shadowy figure pulling strings, may be close. Yet, amidst such concerns, the Code of the Dragoon teaches us to value relationships. And I must say, our conversation has been a welcomed respite in these turbulent times."
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The grey eyes widened slight "Art thou here to kill Olga?
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Drakonsarius sighed, his tone serious, "I don't have much choice. The consequences of inaction would be dire. It has to be the Grand Vizier. There isn't anyone else near enough to the Earl to influence him."
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Anastasia Romanakov nodded thoughtfully, "There is to be a meeting of the Conclave today. I can bring thou there. I've noticed the Grand Vizier acting... off lately, as if she bears some hidden guilt. If thou art right, then do what needs to be done."
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Drakonsarius thought for a moment, noticed a cup of wine, and drank it. He remembers the room spinning, and it all going dark.
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