Angelus Regis
The Sanctum
Fourth Floor
The atmosphere inside the meeting room was noticeably tense as the last mage arrived, was excused for her tardiness, and settled into her seat on the far right of the circular table located dead centre in the circular room.
For a long moment none of the seven mages present spoke, the unvoiced problem hanging low and heavy enough to suffocate, each unsure of which angle first to start dissecting this delicate, volatile situation at hand. Three days ago the most recent letter had arrived, this time delivered by a small metallic device, a small mockery of an owl that exploded once it crashed into the owlery on the very top of the Sanctum. What damages it had caused had since been fixed, but the implications still lingered. It was less of an attack than a symbolism of lost respect, and though the damage done was negligible the impact was far greater.
The letter itself lay spread out in the middle of the table innocuously. By appearance it was harmless enough, a scroll of yellowed writing parchment that appeared crumpled and creased in several places, with messy black letters scrawled across it, dotted with ink blots and crosses that indicated the carelessness of the sender. It was exactly this carelessness, however, that betrayed the unsubtle threat the letter carried. For this letter had originated from no other place but the hands of the leader of the technologists- to be addressed with penmanship and formality more befitting of a child's workbook was flat out humiliation. It was a show of defiance. The power dynamic had shifted. The ball is no longer in the court of the mages. A mere three months ago a display like this would have been brushed off and dismissed as absurd, but today no one was laughing. The contents, while brief, made its intentions clear, and this day the Mage Council was faced with an ultimatum that has not been rivalled in magnitude with any of the events they've faced, combined, in their largely peaceful lifetimes.
"Council, we have gathered today, united at the behest of the situation at hand." The silence was finally broken by a woman in white, and despite her soft complexion her eyes were steely as she observed the solemn faces of her fellow peers. "The technologists have issued an ultimatum to us today, and they demand a response within seven moons. What lies ahead for Avarein is in our hands," her posture was stern as her eyes settled on the hunched figure directly across from her, as her lips curled slightly in distaste. "And it would do us all well to tread carefully in these deep waters."
"I say- let 'em have it!" As though on cue the hunched figure replied without missing a beat, her voice husky and speech slurred. Tousled hair fell onto her face as she tipped her head back and took a long swig of murky emerald liquid from a vial she'd produced, seemingly out of nowhere, slamming the vial onto the table with enough force to elicit a worried protest at the fate of the table. Her eyes were unfocused as her eyes darted without fixation, her face ruddy with drink. "Take 'em out, blow 'em up with their own tech-"
"These are not your men that you are sending to fight, Yeldvas." Another voice interrupted, as loud and solid the steel-plated armour that encased its owner, which clinked and clacked as he knocked his chair over to one side and got to his feet. An accusing hand clad in chainmail pointed towards the hunched alchemist, who responded with another deep drink, this time from yet another vial of molten dirty gold. "Keep your mouth shut if you have nothing better to contribute."
"And you have something better t' say?"
"A fool untrained in the art of thought can do better," the knight grunted. "All that matters to you is the foolhardy fever dream that you chase. Never do you produce any contribution of substance."
"My idea for stopping the damn war," Yeldvas replied sharply, "is for us to fight back. And I don't give much of a damn how many of your men die, or whatever. They're expendable. Andian ain't."
"You would prioritise his life over the millions of valiant, good-hearted men that will die in vain for your harebrained schemes?!"
"It's not in vain-" Yeldvas was on her feet at this point. "If it means saving Andian. Your pawns are worth less 'n a finger of his alone, a shame that you can't see that-"
The table shook with the force of the knight's fist, and for a brief moment it seemed like his anger might spill over into physical force. Even Yeldvas' eyes flashed with a brief sign of fear, for the knight, while noble in disposition and inclined towards peace, did not take kindly to negative remarks about his army. In that moment his entire body was taut with rage, left fist clenched, his right already upon the hilt of the sword hanging at his belt. Some of the other mages had already sprang out of their chairs, alarmed, ready to flee in the face of the knight's imminent ire.
"Calm yourselves." The new voice was soft, but the effect was immediate. All tension diffused out of the moment as both knight and alchemist hesitated, and without breaking eye contact sat down, Yeldvas first looking away with a swig of her spirits. The speaker was the next to stand, carrying himself upright despite his advanced age, his robes a flowing dark blue affair that complemented the sagely aura that he emanated.
"Rigian. Yeldvas. Now is not the time for petty spite." At this the alchemist grumbled mutinously under her breath and was met with a dirty glare from the knight across the table. "Remember our purpose of gathering today. We are here to rectify the mistakes we have made," at this a sharp look was cast at the rest of the members present in the room. "Not create more."
He addressed all of his audience directly now, and despite his low volume his voice echoed clearly in the dead silence of the circular room. "If anyone here is still unaware of the situation with the technologists- two days ago, the technologists have issued a final demand for their persecution to be stopped and the land they have invaded to be handed over to them without question.
"In the interest of our people, that is obviously an unfair and frankly cruel demand. The technologists have polluted our land, and will continue to do so assuming that we yield to them in this moment of weakness. However, the leaders of the technologists have proved to be unreasonable and unwilling to compromise their people's welfare for ours. Due to our previous oversights and underestimations of the threat our nation faced, our mistakes have allowed this conflict to fester and grow to the state it is in as of now. Outside of this city, the war rages, and if no action is taken the Technologists will soon force us all out of our own sacred land.
"As such we are gathered, today, to make a decision regarding this problem that we have created. The fate of our people lies in whichever path we choose to follow from this meeting. Do not take this to be child's play any longer. It is no longer merely a 'situation', it is no longer merely an 'event'. This is war, and the battles we pick have unseen demons walking them. Every wrong move is the catalyst to more, and our goal is to prevent that from coming to pass."
A beat had passed before anyone remembered to blink, the majority still transfixed upon the man standing before them.
"We cannot afford to fight this war." The woman in white this time. "What land we have as of now is not enough to keep up with the recent influx of our citizens who have been displaced due to the technologists. Resources are not being produced fast enough, and have been steadily dropping in quality to keep up with demands. Should we choose to go to war, we may as well be causing a widespread famine for our people. They will suffer more than they already do."
"So that's it? Y'all just gonna sit around and let the techs trample over our land?" Yeldvas again, but no one paid her any due. With a quiet snort of disgust she slouched in her seat and stared upwards into space. "Forget it, not like you buncha coward pricks'll ever get the balls to fight back."
"Not everyone is a bloodthirsty warmonger like you, Yeldvas." The knight, Rigian. "I wholeheartedly agree with Brilu. We, as the Council, have a duty to resolve conflicts in a manner that causes the least damage to both parties involved. A war should be the last thing on our minds as of now."
"Yeldvas has a point, regardless of her stance." A wiry man with tanned skin, a hawk-like nose and a sharp jaw, almost bird like. "We cannot expect the technologists to comply with whatever peace offerings we make. War is not the best option, but nevertheless it is one. We must not rule that out in favour of blindly hoping for a peaceful resolution."
"Not you, Jinn." Rigian's tone was firm. "There is to be no more doubt. We cannot proceed without first having faith in a resolution."
"Oh, so not believing in the absolutely mindless resolution ain't even allowed now, is it?" This impromptu outburst from the alchemist saw her on her feet a moment later, eyes clouded with anger. "Well forgive us, some of us don't see the world through rosy lenses all the time. War is going to happen and the loser is the one that doesn't prepare for it." A finger was jabbed in the knight's direction. "And it'll all be your fault when we lose-"
"How dare you make such unfounded assumptions of my opinions?"
"Not unfounded if they're all true, you conformist arse-kisser-"
"Yeldvas!" The prophet boomed. "That's enough. Sit down." A resentful glare, but the alchemist eventually complied. "We are not trying to discredit your opinion, it is merely an observation that it is more costly and less practical to go to war, and at the present time the better option is to attempt negotiation with the technologists." A hushed murmur of approval from the rest of the members. Yeldvas remained sullenly silent. "Hence, the proposal I have drawn today from your discussion as well as my own input entails a peace negotiation held the Auditorium of Calystra."
A startled cry. The prophet's expression remained resolute as the six disbelieving faces turned to him with equal parts horror and anger. Calystra? The unspoken questions demanded. You dare taint the Auditorium with these filthy technologists? Have we truly sunk so low? No, no, you cannot be serious. This is an outrage. Blasphemous. Heretic.
"It has to be done, my friends. There is no other choice. We do not know how the technologists will react. It is better to be safe than sorry." There were a billion unspoken words of opposition in their throats, unvoiced, and the prophet was glad that his colleagues bit their tongues. It was shameful, for certain. The Auditorium was a sacred site, and to let the invaders' filthy boots soaked with mage blood trample upon the marble floors of Calystra... it was humiliating, yes, but that was what exactly the technologists want. To preserve the nation, sacrifices would have to be made, and if the pride of the Council was one of them, so be it.
"Brilu, any objections?"
"No."
"Rigian?"
"None."
"Avery?" The young mage, clad in white and gold, who had remained silent throughout the entire meeting, jerked and looked up at the mention of their name. The prophet allowed himself a small smile at their reaction.
"Nothing, sir." This was said rather too quickly, without hesitation. They’ve always been an avid follower of the prophet, so his compliance was expected. A small comfort, but still comfort nonetheless. Shaking his head slightly and smiling, the prophet continued.
"Jinn."
A silent jerk of the head.
"Wanderer?"
Silence. The Wanderer, a mysterious being more shadow than tangibility, merely remained motionless without any sign of acknowledgement. None had ever seen its face beneath the dark cloak, nor remember hearing it speak, for it communicated through telepathy. It usually did not give input unless they had something contrary to the majority's opinion, so the prophet took it as a no. His eyes eventually rested upon the sole remaining member of which opinion he had yet to seek, slumped over the table, shoulder blades jutting, eyes downcast.
"...Yeldvas."
The alchemist's mouth was pressed in a thin line. "Nothing, prophet."
An unanimous victory. Easy come, easy go. It felt hollow, but the verbal confirmation was all that the prophet needed.
"It has been decided, then. The letter will be composed and sent tonight. I thank you all dearly for your attendance today." With a heavy heart he looked at each of the somber faces in turn, and not one person met his eye. "Meeting adjourned. You are dismissed."