附近出来卖的学生怎么约

It was a common enough prophecy to draw ire under normal circumstances, but not days ago people had thought the ancient serpent Vasquer was but rumor and myth. Most thought perhaps she had existed once, but those days of legend were long gone. Dragons, too, had not been seen in many centuries. Now both loomed above, and the forever-neutral Order of the Gray Owl all but promised to break its neutrality. None mocked what Argrave said in the face of this unprecedented event.

“You make these claims on what basis, Your Majesty?” Leopold Dandalan, ever the cynic, asked.

“On our history,” Rowe the Righteous interrupted. “Your kind are young, your records stretching back only centuries. I’ve read what few books of history you have. What accounts persist from your oldest records are grossly inaccurate, either taken from biased sources or written as myth. It’s little wonder important events like this dodge your eye. Veidimen scriptures, and unbiased Veidimen records, tell of what comes once again.”

Some of the prouder nobles in the margrave’s retinue bristled at the snow elf’s disrespect, but Argrave raised his hand. “Rowe is right, but he forgets a simple principle: the young can’t be blamed for a lack of wisdom. Our civilization has advanced fast enough we’ve never before endured something like this,” the king said, putting a positive spin on what was obviously not meant so.

“Fortunately, Rowe is an S-rank mage, and so has access to these important documents,” Argrave gestured to the wizened snow elf atop the dragon. “He brought these records he mentions at my request. They aren’t brief, but they also aren’t the only source at our disposal… nor the only witness to these sources.”

People noticed that Argrave deliberately mentioned Rowe was an S-rank mage, but purposeful or accidental, the knowledge was conveyed: not merely this Patriarch Dras, but also an S-rank Veidimen mage heeded his request.

“We have those records with us,” Dras confirmed on Rowe’s behalf. “I hoped to copy and distribute them here.”

Some people looked to Patriarch Dras atop the dragon’s head, then to Anneliese behind the king, muttering something as the two were compared. Theories formed by the second, and Galamon furrowed his brows as he listened.

“I can take care of copying and distributing those documents after this first meeting,” Elenore confirmed, looking up to Argrave for approval.

“So it is,” Argrave nodded back contentedly. “But I imagine many of you will feel discontent looking at Veidimen history alone.” Argrave gestured towards Castro. “Some months ago, I delivered Castro a booklet compiled by Anneliese and myself. You should illuminate everyone present as to what you discovered.”

After being so abruptly called upon, the tower master was not quick to respond. He looked around, shifting on his feet before stepping ahead of the rest so as to speak better.

Castro took a deep breath and said, “The first thing discovered, initially, was an ancient stone disc. When dragon blood was placed upon it, it showed someone nearby a vision. I was the first… user… of this disc.” The old man’s eyes scanned the room, vital and alert. “As the Tower Master, this was concerning… but not enough proof.” He looked back to the Magisters behind. “I assigned several people with the duty of confirming the rest of the leads Argrave supplied. Gesche, you begin,” he directed a woman.

Gesche, a woman who looked middle-aged, was quickly singled out as the crowd of Magisters distanced themselves from her. She described quickly, “I was given a group of laborers and mages and directed to an area in midwestern Vasquer—a mountain just before the wetlands, so wild as to be inhospitable for all but the most monstrous creatures. It was a mausoleum of sorts, partially flooded and overrun with these gargantuan aquatic reptiles. They spewed acid powerful enough to break through B-rank wards and cut through or dissolve a man entirely.”

Gesche looked at Argrave. “Fortunately, the directions given prepared us for that. At a certain point, we found a great record room—dozens of sculptures, records etched into stone, each and all describing the calamity Argrave mentioned. Specifically, it spoke of the Divine’s Feudalism. Of how gods descend upon this land, balancing opportunism with fierce resistance to the greater evil, Gerechtigkeit. The people, human and elf both, king and queen all, become serfs or slaves to the divine and their servants. Mortals are viewed as proxies in this great war on the rebalancing scales of calamity.”

People drunk in Gesche’s words eagerly as the king watched on as though he knew all of what she would say.

Before her words could be dissected, another male Magister contributed, “I learned of the same. I was sent beyond Vasquer to the mountains that divide this land from the Burnt Desert. There, I walked in the imperial palace of the southron elves of old. Their people were embittered by gods, turning against each other in holy wars and fruitless rebellions until their empire emerged to fight the malignant judge.”

Margrave Reinhardt crossed his arms and nodded, but Duke Sumner stepped forth and inquired, “Have either of you two any genuine proof of any of this, or merely your words?”

“I brought the sculptures back to the Tower,” Gesche rebutted proudly. “I brought the stone etchings containing myriad writings. I brought genealogies, histories, each and all discussing how their society was shaped by the calamity of the past. I even brought record of how the great serpent Vasquer led people against Gerechtigkeit,” the magister finished, pointing to Vasquer. “All these incontrovertible proofs can be here tomorrow, if it is necessary.”

“I imagine you also brought home a lovely haul of treasures, too,” King Argrave cut in, causing Gesche to grow quiet immediately. “But that’s only two accounts. We have more, I trust?”

Another Magister came forth, describing the next far-flung ruin—an exposed dwarven settlement lying beneath the sea.

“…these people had a trophy of one of their victories in the great war,” the Magister explained grimly. “It… was human-like, but… near the size of a mountain. Its bones were propped upright by an elaborate mechanical structure. Opposing it was a marble sculpture of a chariot ridden by dwarves, each of them with a laurel wreath on their heads and thunder as their weapon. It… few things can describe the sheer scope of the scene.”

“Dwarves?” said Artur in dissatisfaction. “What do you mean?”

“They’re a different race,” Argrave cut in. “I hope you retrieved the records there.”

The Magister nodded, and soon enough the next spoke. The tyranny of the divine, the great battles raging across the land, the undeniable paleontological evidence, all with a common thread of the arbiter known as Gerechtigkeit. The tales and testimonies piled up, convincing the secular nobles of the validity of this calamity by the second. Some even brought minute proof with them, having anticipated their experiences would be called to question. It was no sweeping proof, but it was nonetheless additive.

By the end of it all, only one dissenter persisted: a baron sworn to Delbraun of Jast. “Apocalyptic tales persist in every culture,” the man insisted—thin yet shrewd-looking, most thought him a scholar. “Near all religions describe the creation of the world, what happens after death, and how the world will end. These unanswerable questions have been answered in every faith and every culture time and time again. Who’s to say there’s no common—”

“Don’t embarrass me, Christoph,” Count Delbraun said, placing his hand on the baron’s shoulder. “I think all of what was posited needs to be reviewed, Your Majesty,” he continued. “But… I am comfortable proceeding with the notion all of this is true… for now. Everyone?”

“I am content.” Margrave Reinhardt looked across his people. “Is there anyone else who would protest?”

None came forth, though from the urgent mutterings it could be gathered that it was not for lack of trying. The sources were reputable, varied, and unilaterally consistent. No hole could be poked without the records the Magisters claimed to have.

“I’m glad I’m with reasonable people,” Argrave nodded, pleasure apparent on his face. He lifted his hand up and pointed to his left. “This creature you see hanging here is from a place known as the Shadowlands. Intervention from spirits bridged the thinning gap between the gods’ realm and ours, allowing this monstrosity to come forth. It took a little over a dozen A-rank mages, and hundreds of B-rank mages to take this thing down.” He lowered his pointed finger. “Creatures like that are among the least of what we face… and steel alone barely chips its skin. Magister Traugott was responsible for its… early summoning.”

Some of the Magisters present muttered in surprise, but none tried to defend the accused; Traugott had no friends.

“With that extensive preamble out of the way, I’ll get to the point,” Argrave rested both hands atop his knee and leaned forward. Anneliese’s hand slid off his shoulder. “This kingdom needs cohesion now more than it ever has. We cannot afford to waste time with some internecine conflict. King Felipe III is dead. His heir, Orion, and his daughter, Elenore, both support my claim, as you can plainly see.”

Elenore remained calm when she was called upon but Orion smiled somewhat, remaining vigilant in his role as a guard.

“I was coronated in Relize. There, I promised the people to right the wrongs my father caused, and to form a parliament for the good of the people.” Argrave grew stern as he said in a low voice, “I intend to make good on both vows. As such, it’s long overdue to bind all of Vasquer together under one centralized force with the intent of fighting against what I know is coming. The army, the economy, the government… all must be reformed to adapt to what comes. What does not bend in the wind will break from the gale, and a tornado comes to rend this land.”

Argrave rose to his feet. “If you wish it, the most important and eligible of you here will form the core of my parliament,” he said. “This new organization will have legitimate power. You will have the ear of the monarch, true legislative and governmental authority, and the key point… the right to confirm coronations, now and forevermore.”

Some people were swept up hearing that promise despite vaguely knowing that Argrave had declared as much back at Relize. This reform would change the kingdom forevermore, and whether stirred by the promise of power or the prospect of positive reformed, they were stirred.

Magister Vasilisa kneeled down and declared, “Your Majesty, Archduchess Diana of the North long ago declared her unconditional support. I will reaffirm that here today.”

“Yes. And a great many seats are already filled by people in northern Vasquer,” Argrave nodded.

Leopold Dandalan bowed, Hirnala supporting him on one side as he leaned on his cave heavily. “Relize and Atrus offer their humble support, Your Majesty.”

“And so, too, will the loyal people of Relize be rewarded,” Argrave continued. “So, Margrave Reinhardt, Tower Master Castro? What say you?”

Margrave Reinhardt closed his eyes and sighed but stepped forth and knelt. “Your Majesty, the south would ask something of you before submission.”

Argrave looked down upon him from his spot atop Vasquer. “What might that be?”

“War has wrecked the closest regions of the south due to prolonged battle against Felipe’s loyalists,” Reinhardt began. “We seek war reparations.”

“That’s fair,” Argrave nodded. “And it benefits the realm, furthermore, if all within it are taken care of.” The king lifted his finger in caution, adding, “But I will not give gold or other such compensation. Instead, this will be a reparation in the truest sense of the word. I will see to it that all troubles in the south caused by this war are duly remedied by action.”

Margrave Reinhardt gave no thanks, merely continued, “There are those in my number who wish to be rewarded for their battle against Felipe’s loyalists.”

Argrave slowly clasped his hands together. “I have promised certain gains to others already. Relize, for instance, has territorial gains along the North Sea. The lords of Atrus have been rewarded for bending the knee, and I cannot renege on my promises to allow them to keep their territory… and further, I cannot end the debts sold to the patricians for repayment. Dirracha will go to Hegazar and Vera for their service in bringing House Quadreign to my fold.”

A great degree of shock spread throughout the room at that declaration. People looked to the couple, but the two seemed oddly unhappy, like they’d been cheated somehow.

“And territorial gains in central Vasquer?” Margrave Reinhardt pressed with bitter duty to his followers.

The king stayed silent for a few moments. Dras and Rowe watched this scene curiously, and the Order Magisters waited to see what would happen.

“They’re largely unpromised,” Argrave hesitantly nodded. “And, indeed, you did defeat the loyalists. Duke Sumner was instrumental in purging that foul abomination,” he gestured towards the Shadowlander. “This is acceptable. I can distribute lands seized lands in central Vasquer, provided these grants are based on genuine military merit.”

Margrave Reinhardt glanced up in surprise, then lowered his head slowly. “Then I have nothing more to ask on the south’s behalf, Your Majesty. But if I may make a personal request…” his head fell lower, until the margrave was practically kowtowing. “Please, heal my children as you healed Princess Elenore.”

People watched the king for his reaction to that brazen request, and some were surprised to see he flashed a genuine smile. “Rose and Elias, huh? One eye and two legs… it’ll be a little easier than Elenore, then. I can make that happen. It’ll need to be relatively soon, though.”

The margrave tremored, then said quietly, “…thank you, Your Majesty. I… have nothing more.”

“Alright,” Argrave nodded, then turned his body to the Magisters. “Then, Tower Master. Will the Order support my kingship?”

Some of the Magisters looked eager now that their turn had come to the negotiation table after that display of generosity. Castro looked back at Artur, who seemed the most expectant of them all. The wizened tower master craned his neck, popping it, then stepped ahead to stand before Elenore, Argrave, and the two sets of guards arrayed before the serpent Vasquer.

“The Order of the Gray Owl…” Castro began slowly. “It requests that all magical knowledge possessed by the royal family—be that of A-rank ascensions passed down, spells of any rank, or any and all knowledge of Order of the Rose ruins—are relinquished to the tower.”

Argrave blinked, showing no reaction.

“Furthermore…” Castro closed his eyes, reciting these words strangely mechanically. “The Order desires all enchanted items kept by the royal family that are unknown. This consists of the royal guards armaments, all elven heirlooms, and any other such relics kept under its control. If these two things are delivered in totality, and an audit confirms this… the Order would offer its uncompromising support against the foul evil of Gerechtigkeit.”

The throne room grew silent, the only noise dominating being the breathing of the two giant reptiles in the room. Argrave watched Castro, then looked beyond at the Magisters who waited expectantly for his answer.

“No,” Argrave said calmly. “That is unacceptable.”