Master Scholar gave a derisive snort as newts dashed away from him. His
staff rang against the cold metal floor of his private chambers as he
chased the newts from his room, dashing his ceremonial staff against the
skulls of any newts that came too close. Scum and vermin, that was what
they were. Finally expelling the intruders from his room he flung the heavy
doors shut and leapt against them, panting heavily. Those newts were
getting rebellious. They were becoming a problem; a problem that Scholar
vowed he would bring to the attentions of the Drakon Council once this
whole ghastly business was over. That lot had had the gall to demand a pay
increase. Demand! The lowest of the low demanding a pay increase from the
leader of a Ruling House! It was unheard of! Once more Scholar cursed the
name of Sonic. Ever since those rumours about a Drakon defeat had begun,
the newts had realised that their superior brethren where not as infallible
as they had been led to believe, which had led to more than a few problems.
Sighing he gazed around at his room.
Arcane instruments lined the walls; none actually using the bizarre force known as magic. There were so many, that any other would have trouble remembering what a fraction of them did. But Scholar prided himself on, among other things, his remarkable memory. The leader of a House dedicated to the pursuit of knowledge needed a good memory after all. Reaching up, Scholar thrust the door's heavy lock into place then stood and pondered the design carved into the golden bar.
On the left-hand side, a harsh angular drawing of a hedgehog and a tribe of Echidnas dominated. On the other side, a smoother, lighter carving of a group of Drakonian soldiers stood faced the Echidnas. And in the centre, was chaos. Scrawled lines, made seemingly at random if you focused your eyes. But, if you allowed your eyes to drift out of focus, the most fearful creature emerged from the scrawled lines. Tearing his eyes away, Scholar made sure that the lock was in place before he allowed himself to turn. The thuds of the newt's fists against the door grew fainter, replaced by the sounds of battle as his Guards laid into the peasants. A puddle of blood crept under the door, and Scholar bent down to examine it. Dipping one clawed finger in the pool of vital fluids he quickly withdrew it and held it up to the light.
Newt blood.
Smiling, Scholar wiped his finger on a nearby cloth before finally leaving the threshold, the sounds of battle growing fainter until they disappeared altogether.
Satisfied, Scholar turned from the doorway and advanced on the gilded doorway that stood opposite him, dodging over an over-sized hourglass that had toppled in the confusion. Sneering, Scholar added that to his mental list of charges against those newts. He was going to enjoy watching the trial, even if it was held in the House of War. He wondered who the Prosecutor for the trial would be. Probably one of Ko-Door's blasted Sentinels, come to think of it.
Thrusting open the doorway his vision was temporarily obscured by a veritable avalanche of scrolls and parchments. Jumping back, Scholar pulled his arm back and narrowly avoided having that limb pulverised by the weight. Growling, he waited for the volley to subside before proceeding over the threshold and into the cavernous room.
Crouched around the heavy oak table (Mobian finest) in the centre of the room were twelve students of the House of Knowledge. Their garb made them seem like miniature versions of himself, which was a good image for the Council of Knowledge. Scholar smiled again. His House may not have had such fancy names for jobs as Haggra seemed to have, but they were more important, at least in his opinion. Looking over the heads of the shorter members, Scholar could see wrinkled parchments laid out on the table. Old maps of Mobius from the Drakon-Echidna War obviously. And, in one corner of the table four of the disciples were bent over a small, newer notebook and scribbling on another version of the old map. They were comparing the notes collected by Ko-Door's spies (at least, he had said they were spies) to the old map, and making the necessary changes. After all, they'd be in a right mess if instead of landing in a secluded clearing they instead got themselves thoroughly stuck in a swamp, especially seeing as once a Drakonian landing craft started its landing procedures, there was no way in hell to stop it short of taking a large axe to the central processors.
As Scholar manoeuvred around the table to his seat he glared disdainfully at the parchments that he had to skirt around, just left without thought lying there on the floor. Whoever was responsible for this would be in big trouble especially as they were supposed to represent the pinnacle of knowledge in the Empire. Taking his seat, Scholar snarled as he felt something shift beneath him. Standing, he pulled out a crumpled sheaf of papers and threw them down on the table, making everyone in the room jump. Scowling at each and every one, Scholar finally decided to leave disciplining for later. They had more important things to think about.
Picking up the sheaf of papers again, Scholar decided he could forgive this a bit. Leafing through he saw that these were the supply lists of items to be manufactured and sent to the House of War. Why they couldn't make their own ships was beyond him. Astronomical amounts of weapons and ships were listed here. Forgivable, as it would take astronomical amounts to seize Mobius. And he would enjoy watching the Planet burn afterwards under the fire of their Demolisher Cannons. Vengeance would be his. His grandfather had died at the hands of those Echidna scum.
He was brought back to his senses by one of the Council shaking his arms. Looking up he noticed the sheaf of papers in his hand was beginning to disintegrate ion his grip. Releasing them he glared at the Council as if it were their fault then calmed himself. This was no time for daydreams.
"How are the maps coming along?" he asked. The group hunched over the notebooks looked up, and a wrinkled Drakon spoke up, his glasses threatening to leap of his face.
"Very well Master," he croaked. "The general landscape of Mobius doesn't seem to have changed radically, so all we really have to do is mark down the settlements." A younger Drakon interrupted his elder, earning him many a disdainful look.
"We've also found a great place for our landings!" he squeaked. Scholar growled at the lack of his respective title, and his ears found out that he was not the only one. He began to rethink his decision to leave the disciplining until later. Still, the fool was young. A remarkable mind, but young and naïve. Nodding, Scholar forced a smile at the youngster, though the older Drakon appeared ready to attack him with his staff.
"Good," he said. "I wish for you to check those sites. Also," he said, turning to an oil-stained member of the Council, who was thumbing through a set of blueprints. "I want you to inform the Factories to speed up production. If they object, remind them about the Sun." The oil-stained Drakon nodded, but Scholar had already turned away. Another Drakon spoke up and Scholar sighed. This was to be a long night of planning.
War was tiring.
Arcane instruments lined the walls; none actually using the bizarre force known as magic. There were so many, that any other would have trouble remembering what a fraction of them did. But Scholar prided himself on, among other things, his remarkable memory. The leader of a House dedicated to the pursuit of knowledge needed a good memory after all. Reaching up, Scholar thrust the door's heavy lock into place then stood and pondered the design carved into the golden bar.
On the left-hand side, a harsh angular drawing of a hedgehog and a tribe of Echidnas dominated. On the other side, a smoother, lighter carving of a group of Drakonian soldiers stood faced the Echidnas. And in the centre, was chaos. Scrawled lines, made seemingly at random if you focused your eyes. But, if you allowed your eyes to drift out of focus, the most fearful creature emerged from the scrawled lines. Tearing his eyes away, Scholar made sure that the lock was in place before he allowed himself to turn. The thuds of the newt's fists against the door grew fainter, replaced by the sounds of battle as his Guards laid into the peasants. A puddle of blood crept under the door, and Scholar bent down to examine it. Dipping one clawed finger in the pool of vital fluids he quickly withdrew it and held it up to the light.
Newt blood.
Smiling, Scholar wiped his finger on a nearby cloth before finally leaving the threshold, the sounds of battle growing fainter until they disappeared altogether.
Satisfied, Scholar turned from the doorway and advanced on the gilded doorway that stood opposite him, dodging over an over-sized hourglass that had toppled in the confusion. Sneering, Scholar added that to his mental list of charges against those newts. He was going to enjoy watching the trial, even if it was held in the House of War. He wondered who the Prosecutor for the trial would be. Probably one of Ko-Door's blasted Sentinels, come to think of it.
Thrusting open the doorway his vision was temporarily obscured by a veritable avalanche of scrolls and parchments. Jumping back, Scholar pulled his arm back and narrowly avoided having that limb pulverised by the weight. Growling, he waited for the volley to subside before proceeding over the threshold and into the cavernous room.
Crouched around the heavy oak table (Mobian finest) in the centre of the room were twelve students of the House of Knowledge. Their garb made them seem like miniature versions of himself, which was a good image for the Council of Knowledge. Scholar smiled again. His House may not have had such fancy names for jobs as Haggra seemed to have, but they were more important, at least in his opinion. Looking over the heads of the shorter members, Scholar could see wrinkled parchments laid out on the table. Old maps of Mobius from the Drakon-Echidna War obviously. And, in one corner of the table four of the disciples were bent over a small, newer notebook and scribbling on another version of the old map. They were comparing the notes collected by Ko-Door's spies (at least, he had said they were spies) to the old map, and making the necessary changes. After all, they'd be in a right mess if instead of landing in a secluded clearing they instead got themselves thoroughly stuck in a swamp, especially seeing as once a Drakonian landing craft started its landing procedures, there was no way in hell to stop it short of taking a large axe to the central processors.
As Scholar manoeuvred around the table to his seat he glared disdainfully at the parchments that he had to skirt around, just left without thought lying there on the floor. Whoever was responsible for this would be in big trouble especially as they were supposed to represent the pinnacle of knowledge in the Empire. Taking his seat, Scholar snarled as he felt something shift beneath him. Standing, he pulled out a crumpled sheaf of papers and threw them down on the table, making everyone in the room jump. Scowling at each and every one, Scholar finally decided to leave disciplining for later. They had more important things to think about.
Picking up the sheaf of papers again, Scholar decided he could forgive this a bit. Leafing through he saw that these were the supply lists of items to be manufactured and sent to the House of War. Why they couldn't make their own ships was beyond him. Astronomical amounts of weapons and ships were listed here. Forgivable, as it would take astronomical amounts to seize Mobius. And he would enjoy watching the Planet burn afterwards under the fire of their Demolisher Cannons. Vengeance would be his. His grandfather had died at the hands of those Echidna scum.
He was brought back to his senses by one of the Council shaking his arms. Looking up he noticed the sheaf of papers in his hand was beginning to disintegrate ion his grip. Releasing them he glared at the Council as if it were their fault then calmed himself. This was no time for daydreams.
"How are the maps coming along?" he asked. The group hunched over the notebooks looked up, and a wrinkled Drakon spoke up, his glasses threatening to leap of his face.
"Very well Master," he croaked. "The general landscape of Mobius doesn't seem to have changed radically, so all we really have to do is mark down the settlements." A younger Drakon interrupted his elder, earning him many a disdainful look.
"We've also found a great place for our landings!" he squeaked. Scholar growled at the lack of his respective title, and his ears found out that he was not the only one. He began to rethink his decision to leave the disciplining until later. Still, the fool was young. A remarkable mind, but young and naïve. Nodding, Scholar forced a smile at the youngster, though the older Drakon appeared ready to attack him with his staff.
"Good," he said. "I wish for you to check those sites. Also," he said, turning to an oil-stained member of the Council, who was thumbing through a set of blueprints. "I want you to inform the Factories to speed up production. If they object, remind them about the Sun." The oil-stained Drakon nodded, but Scholar had already turned away. Another Drakon spoke up and Scholar sighed. This was to be a long night of planning.
War was tiring.