Cagrach Hall

Cagrach Hall. lurking in the forefront of Hoffholm Palace, was a foreboding sight to those who had not gotten used to its presence - 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, and it always made newcomers even more aware of how completely different they were from one another. Hoffholm was an opaque white, almost crystallic in nature; twisting spires and turrets, adorned with meticulously carved cornices and many other artistic architectural designs made up the exterior of the Palace, which was carefully crafted as the seat of Regganorian royalty over several decades. By contrast, Cagrach was a stark, square, imposing mass crafted of course, black stone. Where Hoffholm was elegant, Cagrach was crass; where Hoffholm was gentle, Cagrach was harsh. Where Hoffholm was hopeful, Cagrach was brooding. 

These factors combined to have a most interesting subconscious effect on the populace which caused them to go out of their way to avoid passing the Hall during their daily routines if it could at all be avoided. 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. But 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 men-at-arms 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 quartet made for the opposite end where another door lie 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, too, was in full uniform as if a battle was taking place outside the very walls in which he resided, although no weapon was at his side and he sat with calm attentiveness, stroking the thick patch of hair that jutted from his chin that had only in recent years shown signs of graying. An emblem of a soaring eagle shown on his breastplate. 

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 only two other seats were occupied by faces that had yet to be introduced. 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 caused him to break out into a mockingly innocent grin. 

"It were my fault, Harris." Alwyn admitted, as he sat down to his acquaintance who had his boots leisurely propped up on the table, leisurely 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 mischievous 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 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 knight that up until that point had been settled in almost meditative silence; his eyes closed and hands clasped around a silver amulet on the walnut surface 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 replaced the silver token around his neck 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 and the two guests he has brought into our presence..." 

All turned to evaluate Commander Greenwood at his mention (although he had not spoken during the conversation), as though forgetting that he had been present at all, and the companions positioned on either side of him. To his right sat a beautiful young woman of dark complexion who smiled unashamed at the many eyes who wondered who she was. To his left sat a figure as still as stone and covered head to toe in a dark green cloak that cast its face into shadow; Alwyn, who sat closest to the concealed being, only suspected he was a man based on the manner in which he was seated and the outline of his figure. 

"And perhaps most egregious," Sir Zachariah continued, his rant 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 Henrich! 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.