He'd seen it all many times before, and he would see it again, as long as he cared to look. 

Duke Rigby was a senior member of the Council of Nobles, which meant that he was required to attend monthly meetings at the capital of Velikanst; the city of Opulus. The Duke hated these meetings; they never amounted to anything more than a desperate attempt by other, inferior nobles to undermine his position as the Guardian of the East, a station which had been granted to him by the previous emperor. It was by no means a comfortable post, but with it came honor and power, and thus it was coveted nonetheless. 

Cressenta stood in front of the heavy double doors. He had yet to enter, but he was already weary of the council's antics. Taking a deep breath, he threw the doors open, letting them swing wide and crash back on their hinges. The majority of the council had already arrived, and they looked up in surprise as Duke Rigby sauntered in and took his position at one end of the table. His was one of two seats that had been empty, the other belonging to Viscount Joshua Gerald, from the northern region, who was conspicuously absent on account of his deteriorating health. 

“Well, let's get this over with,” Rigby sighed. The table was silent, staring at him expectantly. He grumbled something about useless nobles that made those nearest to him turn pale and look away. 

“Weaver!” he snapped, “what's first on the agenda?” 

Earl Cavan Weaver, the council's scribe, sifted through his notes carefully. He pushed his spectacles up and addressed the council from his position near the middle of the table. “If you recall, my lords, last month’s discussion was cut short due to a violent altercation between–” He stopped to glare at the offending nobles, who cast their eyes sheepishly away. “Well, you know who you are. At that point in time, we were discussing the emperor's latest tax increase, in which–” 

“Skip it,” Rigby interrupted. 

“Excuse me?” Weaver was aghast. 

“We all know Tacitus loves his taxes, and there's nothing we can do to change that. So skip it.” 

“But, Your Grace–” 

“I have better things to do than waste my time dithering about this and that. Next item, Weaver.” 

A few nobles gasped at Cressenta’s casual use of the emperor's name, but he didn't care. He was too busy expediting the whole meeting. 

The Earl scanned his notes once more, chewing his lip anxiously. He was the sort to plan meticulously, and when the schedule was derailed (as Duke Rigby so often did) he couldn't help but get annoyed. He took a deep breath and said, “the next item on the agenda is about the emperor's plans to build a new road connecting Opulus to the northern regions. The road will span–” 

“Next!” the Duke called callously. 

Weaver's forehead spasmed. “Your Grace–” 

“Weaver. We are all very aware of the emperor's designs. This is not a matter that affects the council, therefore it is not prudent that we discuss it. Please move on.” 

“Duke Rigby, I must protest–” 

“Your complaint is noted.” 

“But–” 

“Next. Item. Weaver.” 

The scribe scowled menacingly at his papers. He surveyed them quickly, selecting a topic that the Duke could not ignore. “According to the reports, there has been an abnormally large amount of monster attacks this year, with many more to be expected. Most have occurred in the north and east. Current projections indicate that fatality rates will increase exponentially if this issue is not addressed.” 

“Has Count Fernigan requested aid?” a noble asked. 

“He has,” Weaver assented. 

The council began conversing among themselves, deciding who among them should send support. Rigby left them alone, preferring to wait for the conversation to die down rather than trying to speak over them. At last, the hubbub ceased, and the council looked expectantly at Duke Rigby. 

“I will send Baron Baltimore,” Cressenta announced, “he and his soldiers should be more than enough to take care of the monster waves.” 

A couple of nobles frowned at this declaration, while others admitted to its wisdom. Only one dared to glare openly at Rigby from across the table. Duke Alonso Sarvis was another senior member of the council, and as such, he sat on the exact opposite end of the large rectangular table from Cressenta. 

“I can't help but wonder,” he began, “why you insist on solving this issue using only your own men…” 

“I simply value efficiency,” Duke Rigby replied, “Baron Baltimore's territory is the closest to Count Fernigan’s, therefore it is expedient that he should address the situation. If you have any other questions, please feel free to ask.” His condescending tone seemed to condemn inquiries, but Sarvis didn't care. 

“If you please, Duke Rigby,” he replied, “how are your lands faring, if I may be so impertinent?” 

Cressenta scowled. “Just fine, thank you very little. Now, if there is nothing left to discuss, I move for an adjournment of this meeting. All in favor?” 

Several nobles began to raise their hands, but Weaver stopped them. He cleared his throat loudly, claiming the council's attention. 

“One moment, Your Grace,” he called, “there is one last item remaining on today's agenda.” 

Rigby raised an eyebrow. “Is it important?” he demanded, wondering if this would be a waste of more precious time. 

“I'm afraid it is,” Weaver replied, “it… it concerns the recent civil war in Xelidu…” The Earl was reluctant to say it, but the whole table was now on edge. He bit his cheek nervously, knowing the implications of the news he was about to share. 

“Get on with it, Weaver,” Rigby growled, and even Sarvis agreed. 

Cavan sighed. “The emperor has plans to send support to the Elamin faction.” 

The room went dead silent. The assistant scribe who had been copying down every word said in the meeting dropped his nib pen, and it clattered to the floor with a sharp clack. 

All at once, the council erupted with protests, most of which could have been considered treasonous. 

“Has His Majesty lost his mind?!” one noble asked. 

“What will happen to the D’lassissi’s?!” another called. 

Duke Sarvis raised his hands to quell the mob and quench the fires of rebellion beginning to smolder in their hearts. 

“Now, now,” Alonso said, “I'm sure that the emperor must have his reasons. He wouldn't do anything without the best interests of the kingdom in mind.” 

Duke Rigby narrowed his eyes. Sarvis didn't look the least bit perturbed. It seemed to him that Alonso had already been informed about this design prior to the meeting and had been given the task of defusing the inevitable outcry that was so forthcoming. 

“And how do your interests align?” Rigby asked point blank. 

Sarvis scowled. “It doesn't, Rigby,” he spat, “out of all of us here, I'm the one set up to lose the most, so don't you dare start accusing me of conspiring with the emperor.” 

“I wouldn't dream of it,” Cressenta said, a hint of sarcasm in his voice. Then he turned to Weaver and said, “has it been revealed yet what form this support will take?” he asked. 

Weaver shook his head. “Details are unknown, as of yet,” he explained, “but I hope to learn more in the very near future.” 

Duke Rigby nodded. Weaver may have been a stickler for the laws and rules, but he was also the epitome of bipartisanship, and thus could be trusted with even the most sensitive of topics as long as it stayed within the bounds of legality. 

“Well,” Cressenta replied, “in light of that, I once again move for an adjournment of this meeting. All in favor?” 

The vote was almost unanimous. Duke Sarvis looked like he wanted to speak up, but the majority had already supported Duke Rigby’s motion. 

Cressenta himself strolled briskly to the door, attempting to extricate himself before he was targeted by the endless flattery of the lesser nobles. He flung open the doors and stepped through them, into the stone hallway. Unfortunately, he wasn't quite quick enough to dodge the fast talking noble who had followed him out. 

“Excuse me, Your Grace,” he said, wringing his hands nervously, “might I have a moment of your time? I have a small proposal that may interest you…” 

“Marquess Crulisar, I have neither a need nor a desire to listen to your incessant chattering,” Duke Rigby responded bluntly, “but, as I am feeling quite magnanimous today, I will give you until I reach my carriage to convince me otherwise.” 

Cressenta quickened his pace, leaving the marquess scrambling to catch up. “As I was saying, Your Grace,” the noble puffed, “I have a proposal for you which may pique your interest. It regards the opaline mana stone in your possession. I–” 

“Here is my carriage,” the Duke interrupted, “and now we must part ways. Good day to you, Earl. I hope you find a buyer for your mana stone. I wish you safe and happy travels.” 

With that, Cressenta climbed into his carriage and swung the door shut, leaving the marquess sputtering in anger and confusion. The horse's hooves clopped on the flagstones as the Duke pulled away, heading back to his own lands in the east. He sighed softly to himself, staring out the window at the scenery beyond. 

“Well, that was quite the experience,” he said to no one in particular.