Chapter 3: Cagrach Hall
Cagrach Hall, lurking in the forefront of Hoffholm Palace, creeped its way into the sky high enough that it plunged all passerby not yet accustomed to its presence into chilled shadow. This made it an eyesore that was viewed as a visual blight to the city - especially when held in direct comparison to its counterpart. Both the Palace and Hall were two of the eldest buildings in the city, constructed after the founding of Privatis. Hoffholm was an opaque white, almost crystallic in nature. Twisting spires and turrets, adorned with meticulously carved cornices made up the exterior of the Palace along with many other artistic architectural designs, which was carefully crafted as the seat of Regganorian royalty over several decades by the highest class of artisans that the royal family could hire. By contrast, Cagrach was a stark, square, imposing mass of inky black stone, crafted quickly by any peasantry close enough at hand to be conscripted into the labor of its construction. This harsh history worked subconsciously on newcomers to make them even more aware of how completely different they were from one another.
As Alwyn approached the Hall, he couldn't help but notice that he was no longer having to put in effort to avoid the crowds that came with the narrow streets of the ancient city, as if an invisible border had been erected at the very edges of the property. This was all the better to the select few of high enough authority to enter Cagrach, as it meant less of a public interest in the matters being discussed inside. In reality, and despite the outward appearance that many thought made the structure look akin to a prison, Cagrach acted as both center for discussions relating to both diplomacy and war, and was for that reason adjoined to the House of Banners on one end, and the House of Delegates on the other. Though Cagrach Hall served another purpose, and that was as the origin and headquarters of the Drake's Tongue.
Sir Nathaniel breathlessly took in the sight of the grand Hoffholm Palace in its morning glory - a sight he had not seen in several years - before following his brothers-in-arms to the somber entrance of Cagrach Hall. Two knights stood watchful guard on either end of the heavy oaken door, their sharpened pikes standing tall at their sides. Peering out from beneath their helms for no more than the moment it took to see the insignia on each breastplate, a subtle nod indicated to the knights that they were permitted to enter. Alwyn was the first to breach the entryway with a prolonged groan of protest from the ancient door. Sunbeams trickled in from the outside to the corners of the long hall not touched by the sconces jutting out on either end of every arch. Marching in twos along the velvet walkway, the four men made for the opposite end where another door lay in wait. Several officers, advisors, nobles, and other men and women of repute proceeded through the Hall, or otherwise stood aside conversing quietly in various alcoves or archways that led to the other Houses. Not a soul spared any of the knights more than a glance.
Without sparing a knock, Alwyn pushed open the entrance of the council chamber. Most of the Order of knights had arrived prior to them, and now turned to face the newcomers in silent curiosity from their seats at either end of the longtable that stood parallel to the door. At the head of the table sat the pensive form of Lucius Greenwood, Commander of the Duchy of Drugård Feiranais and Marshall to the Drake's Tongue. Greenwood, while sitting with calm attentiveness, was without uniform - though his attire was formal for the occasion, his velvet tunic lined with rich sable. His sword rested by his side, its use being for ceremony or combat ready to be decided at an instant by its owner. He stroked the thick patch of hair that jutted from his chin which had only in recent years shown signs of graying as he observed the new entrees.
There were two more chairs aligned on either side of the Commander, in the event of a gathering between himself and the four duchy generals - though at the moment they were unoccupied, their owners busy with their own affairs within the four other duchies of the Kingdom. Greenwood leveled his gaze at the men as they entered in calculating appraisal.
"Apologies, Sir." Spoke Sir Lawrence with a stiff bow to Greenwood, as the other knights made their way to their designated seats.
Greenwood gave a wave of his hand in dismissal to the apology as to say that there was no harm done. "You're hardly the last to arrive, Lawrence. Please, take a seat and we may begin our business here shortly."
Sir Lawrence nodded quickly and strode to his place.
"Nearly tardy there, eh Corwick? Here I was thinking you to be here 'fore the Hall were even unlocked."
Sir Lawrence shot a dark glance to the source of the jibe as he pulled out his chair, though Sir Harris hardly cared. As a matter of fact, witnessing the look he had inspired on Sir Lawrence's face caused him to break out into a mockingly innocent grin.
"It were my fault, Harris." Alwyn admitted, as he sat down next to his acquaintance who had his boots leisurely propped up on the table, idly twirling one of the two short, curved blades usually lashed to his sides. "I hadn't knowledge of our summons till past dawn, the others came to fetch me."
Harris raised his brows and nodded slowly in understanding, though his playful grin only deepened as he looked around the room.
"I'm more surprised that we beat Jonah to the council." Spoke Orwick from across the table. "It's most usual for the newest initiates to stay drunk for half a moon after they've been admitted."
As Orwick jerked his thumb and all eyes turned to find the young knight, Sir Jonah straightened in his seat so quickly that his armor clanked as if several pairs of cymbals were crashing together. His eyes darted around as his thin face turned a bright crimson; while he attempted to formulate a response, his Adam's apple visibly bobbed in his throat.
"W-well I…I-I wouldn't ever 'ave thought to-," was all young Jonah could stammer out before Sir Nathaniel clapped him on the back with a hearty laugh.
"He's just gettin' yer goat Jonah!" Nathaniel roared. Alwyn and Orwick shared a laugh at this, Harris snickered, and Jonah managed a meek chuckle, now assured that he had not gotten himself into any sort of trouble during his first official summons as a member of the Drake's Tongue.
"Not all of us find our duty to be taken as such a light matter."
The deluge of laughter died down to a trickle, and Nathaniel's smile wavered as he regarded the hulking castle of a man that up until that point had been settled in almost meditative silence; his eyes closed and hands clasped around a silver amulet on the table before him. His eyes now were intently locked on Nathaniel.
"Come now, Zachariah - we're just havin' a bit of fun with the greenhorn, what's the harm in that?" Nathaniel pleaded.
In the most delicate of manners one would not expect for a man of his size, Sir Zachariah carefully tucked the silver token back behind his breastplate before he began to speak.
"You forget yourselves - we are Knights of the Drake's Tongue. We serve the highest Order in a Kingdom that up until five cades past held the fate of every land of man or beast in its grasp."
Zachariah spoke in a low, growling monotone that only grew in volume with the passion of his fervor.
"Those that came before us honored their oath till their last breath - mastering magics the likes of which was never thought possible for human minds, and binding their very souls to the great dragons that once possessed our skies. Now you sit in the very seats where those great heroes once sat, your greaves upon the table."
Sir Harris was unabashed, though he took the opportunity to readjust and lower his feet to the floor.
"Adorning yourselves however you'd like…"
Zachariah's eyes flashed to the scarf wrapped around Orwick's neck, and its owner who flushed scarlet at its mention.
"Jesting as if at a festival…"
Nathaniel only stared back grimly.
"Addressing one another void of proper title, in front of our Commander no less…"
All turned to evaluate Commander Greenwood at his mention, though he had yet to speak, as though forgetting that he had been present at all.
"And perhaps most egregious," Sir Zachariah continued, his lecture coming to a controlled crescendo. "Is having the brass neck to even run the risk of arriving-"
At this very moment, as if on cue, the heavy double doors leading into the council chamber flung open on their hinges as if they'd been crafted of paper and reeds.
"...late." Sir Zachariah snarled in almost a whisper, though he could hardly be heard over the exerted breathing projecting from the corpulent Sir Barney Gorrin, who now stumbled to his seat with much exaggerated effort present in his winded yet jolly face.
"Hullo there, my good fellows! Jonah! It is good to see we've yet to scare you off - Aha! Nathaniel, why, I hardly recognized you - welcome back, welcome back, I trust your journey was not too hard on you? Oh, grandpa Heinrich! Still keeping up with us, eh? Orwick, bit chilly today I take it - ho-ho!"
As he clattered and clanged behind each seat, he merrily greeted his compatriots in such a genuinely pleasant manner that it almost instantly dispelled the weighted tension that had been present only moments before. At last, he reached his chair and turned his warm sights on Commander Greenwood.
"Always a pleasure to see you again, Marshall Greenwood, Sir." Sir Barney gave an awkward sort of half-bow. Zachariah gritted his teeth.
Commander Greenwood wore the ghost of a smile on his face as his eyes twinkled in amusement. He invited the final knight to sit, and the council fell to silence as the Commander rose to his feet.