The hall of Traventis was filled with tension, scented with polished mahogany and candle wax. Devon sat at the head of the round table, his broad shoulders proud, blue eyes scanning the chiefs. Before each chief sat an untouched scroll, quill, and inkpot, as if they feared writing their thoughts.
"The people are traumatized," Devon declared, his voice low but sharp, cutting through the heavy silence. "The gate lies unattended, neglected by those sworn to protect it."
His gaze locked onto Chief Galanas, whose weathered face tightened under the scrutiny. "And you, Chief Galanas, have betrayed them."
A collective unease rippled through the room. The chiefs shifted in their seats, their embroidered green cloaks rustling softly.
No one dared meet Devon's eyes, the weight of his words pressing down like a storm cloud.
He leaned back, the carved chair creaking as he pushed it away, rising with deliberate grace.
His boots clicked against the polished stone floor, each step echoing in the cavernous hall.
Devon's thoughts drifted as he scanned the towering windows, their light casting long, wavering shadows across the room.
'Where is Father now?' he wondered, his heart tightening. 'Missing because of me.
How do you find someone that told no one of his whereabouts?'
The ache of guilt gnawed at him, but he kept his expression steely, unwilling to betray his inner turmoil.
Chief Galanas cleared his throat, shattering Devon's reverie. "In the absence of Lord Traventis, I did what was necessary," he said, his voice gravelly but defiant, his hands gripping the edge of the table.
Devon's eyes narrowed, his jaw clenching. "Necessary?" he snapped, stepping closer, his shadow looming over the chief. "You're no better than the criminals who broke into my manor."
He swept his gaze across the other chiefs, their faces a mix of fear and shame.
With a heavy sigh, he softened his tone, though his words carried an edge of restrained fury.
"All those in favor of Chief Galanas's policies, raise your hand."
Silence hung in the air, thick and suffocating. Not a single hand rose. Devon's lips twitched, a flicker of satisfaction crossing his face.
"It didn't have to come to this," he said, his voice calm but laced with disappointment as he stared at Galanas. "I hereby order the arrest of Chief Galanas on charges of treason and assault on the people of Traventis's land."
A faint hum filled Devon's mind, and a translucent system HUD flickered into view, its glowing text hovering before his eyes:
[The council of chiefs supports your decision. +100 Supremacy Points.]
[The council of chiefs is liberated by your presence. +100 Supremacy Points.]
Galanas's face twisted into a snarl as two guards clad in dark cloaks stepped forward, their armored boots clanging against the stone.
"I did what no one else had the courage to do!" he roared, struggling as the guards seized his arms.
His chair toppled with a crash, the sound reverberating through the hall.
Devon's voice cut through the chaos, sharp and unyielding. "Treason was part of your courage?" He gestured toward the fallen chair, his eyes blazing. "You're a chief, respected by the people, or you were. If not for that, I'd have ordered your arrest the moment I struck down your monstrous knight. Take him away."
Galanas thrashed against the guards, his voice rising to a fevered pitch.
"They're witches!" he screamed, his eyes wild as he was dragged toward the door.
"You'll regret sparing them! Chief Tanister lies on his deathbed because of those foul women! They must be made an example of!"
Devon froze, his breath catching. "Chief Tanister?" he asked, his voice low, masking the desperation clawing at his chest.
"Yes!" Galanas spat, his voice dripping with venom as the guards hauled him through the doorway. "And soon, it'll befall you all! You know this!" His shouts echoed down the corridor, fading into a distant, childish wail.
Devon raised a hand, his voice steady despite the storm in his mind.
"Court dismissed." The chiefs rose silently, their green cloaks shimmering like leaves in a breeze as they filed out. The hall fell quiet, the faint whistle of wind slipping through the window frames.
Devon sank back into his chair, the weight of the moment settling over him like a heavy cloak.
The Traventis court consisted of seven chiefs and one lord—his father, Lord Traventis the Third.
In his absence, Chief Galanas had assumed command, wielding power with a ruthless hand. Chief Tanister, the lord's trusted advisor, was a scholar of political intricacies, while Chief Silas, a hunched old man with a neatly tied bun of silver hair, had been his father's closest friend.
"Young Lord Devon," Chief Silas said softly, approaching with a warm smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes.
He settled into the chair beside Devon, his movements slow, deliberate.
"It brings me great joy to see you in good health. The town has suffered greatly since your father's absence."
Devon leaned forward, resting his chin on his hand, the faint scent of Silas's herbal salve mingling with the room's woody aroma.
"Thank you, Chief Silas," he said, his voice tinged with gratitude but edged with urgency. "Did my father ever confide in you about his travels?"
Silas's weathered face fell, his eyes clouding with regret. "I'm afraid he did not," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.
'He doesn't know,' Devon thought, his mind racing, 'or he's hiding something for certain reasons.' He forced a small smile.
"I expected as much. Still, I'm glad I returned before Galanas's ambitions escalated further out of control."
Silas's expression brightened, though his voice carried a note of caution. "Will you stay, my lord? Galanas's actions grew reckless, assaulting maidens, silencing queries, There have been various reports of unlawful policies , but fear kept the people quiet."
Devon stood, stretching the sleeves of his white undergarment, the fabric clinging to his muscled frame.
His blue jerkin, adorned with golden buttons that glinted in the sunlight, spoke of his status, while the black leather pants, accented with a single blue stripe, moved with him in a fine harmony. The outfit was a quiet declaration of authority, even when his words were not.
"Galanas's power is stripped," he said firmly.
"Take me to Tanister. And tell me about these witchcraft claims."
Silas rose, his joints creaking as he followed Devon toward the door. "There was no evidence of witchcraft, my lord," he said, his voice heavy with concern.
"The last time I saw Tanister, he was gravely ill, his skin burning like a kettle left too long on the fire."
Devon's steps slowed, a chill running through him. 'That's what the councilman said,' he thought, his pulse quickening.
The system HUD flickered again:
[Intelligence Active: 10/20.]
Silas continued, his voice slow and deliberate, each word punctuated by the uneven click of his footsteps. "His neck bore signs of some strange affliction—a disease, perhaps."
'This fits too perfectly,' Devon thought, his mind racing. 'Should I tell Herba?' He pushed the thought aside, focusing on Silas's words.
"You stood by while Galanas prepared to execute two women?" Devon asked, his tone sharp with lingering frustration as they descended the stone staircase, the air growing cooler with each step.
Silas's shoulders slumped. "We had no choice, my lord.
Galanas ruled through fear, backed by that monstrous knight. No one knew how he controlled it. Tanister was the only one bold enough to challenge him, but his illness forced us to hide him in the deepest room of this keep."
'According to that note, Tanister is a traitor as well—he too can't be trusted.' Devon thought.
They reached the bottom of the stairs, where a figure stood by the heavy oak doors. Councilman Herba, short and stout, was surrounded by three young women in vibrant yellow corsets, their low-cut gowns announced their ripe cleavages.
Their giggles filled the air as Herba, ever the charmer, leaned in with a roguish grin, his golden scepter glinting in the light.
'What a cunning fox,' Devon thought, a wry smile tugging at his lips. 'Even with his height, he woos maidens with ease.'
The women's attention shifted as Devon approached, their eyes widening at the sight of his commanding presence.
"Lord Devon," they said in unison, offering curt bows, their cheeks flushing a soft pink.
The HUD flickered once more:
[The three young maidens are blushing. +60 Carnal Points, 20 each.]
The women glided past, their skirts rustling softly, leaving a faint scent of lavender in their wake. Herba's grin faltered, his eyes narrowing as he watched them go, clearly displeased that Devon's arrival had stolen his possible chances of a short time lover during his stay here.
"Councilman Herba," Devon called, bringing him back to reality as he Undressed the sweet maidens with his eyes.
. "Meet Chief Silas."
The two men shook hands, Silas stood taller than Herba despite his hunched posture.
The councilman's scepter gleamed as he adjusted his stance, puffing out his chest to compensate for his stature.
Devon met Herba's gaze, his expression grave. "Councilman, there's something you need to see." He paused, his voice dropping to a near whisper. "And for once, I hope my suspicions are wrong."