As afternoon lingers on, Romorith and Vonner appear in the courtroom before the judge on duty. While all charges will be announced at nearly the same time, they have the choice of how to proceed with presentation of evidence.

Judge Babak Nobakht sits at a lectern at the head of the chamber. Judge Nobakht is himself a mummy. That is not to say that he’s old fashioned, behind the times, antiquated, or dangerously out of date. He is literally mummified. His wraps are immaculately tidy and he wears white robes over them, hemmed with thread of gold.

A pair of scribes sit behind him, taking notes in thick ledgers. As it is the start of the week, it is the day for announcing cases. Other attorneys are hard at work naming the crimes they aim to prove, and Romorith and Vonner take their assigned turns.

“What grievance do the people name?” A herald announces to the courtroom, his voice musical with ritual. Vonner approaches the rail before the judge. She hands off notarized forms to the scribe taking the judge’s notes.

“We argue that one Hendry Wymark, formerly of the Lantern State, is guilty of crime against safety in Two Rivers.” Vonner takes her turn first. On hearing his name, Wymark then approaches the rail with his lawyer.

“What is his crime?” The herald continues the process.

“Failure to report destruction of uncontrolled living impaired automaton and misuse of a class five magical item.” Vonner’s practiced voice is clear, and just as filled with ritual weight.

“Hendry Wymark, formerly of the Lantern State, are you present?” the herald intones.

“Uhm,” Wymark stumbles though the words, his lawyer hissing encouragement in his ear. “I am. Advocate Neina Nepa will speak for me.”

“How do you answer the charge against you?”

“My client is willing to confess his guilt under terms.” Advocate Nepa is an older human woman who can only be described as being forged from steel. Her spine is rigidly straight. Her dark skin is weathered by time but not wounded by it. Her gray hair hangs in many tiny braids, pulled away from her face with a length of white ribbon.

“Are the people willing to hear terms?”

“We are.” Vonner is not entirely surprised. It’s not unusual for some charges to be admitted to and a swift punishment accepted rather than hold a full trial.

“Is the court willing to forgo adjudicating?”

“We are.” The judge uses the royal “we,” when he speaks. His voice is dry, but as deep as a well.

“Hendry Wymark, Advocate Vonner,” the herald addresses the trio directly, “return to the court before the week’s end with your decision.”

Both lawyers nod curtly, and leave the rail. Nepe leads Wymark by an elbow through the sparse crowd. In an aisle Vonner spots Lander in her wheelchair.

Vonner sighs. The stairs were no defense. Better luck next time. The scribes write away in the background.

Nepe and Vonner discuss a time to meet in the hall outside the courtroom. They pick Tuesday morning, and will meet at Doomweaver’s office.

Romorith approaches the rail as Vonner leaves.

“What grievance do the people name?” The herald begins the process again.

“We argue that one Sir Roland Durandal of Bandon and the Second Strabthine Empire has committed crimes against safety in Two Rivers.” Romorith’s delivery is smooth, but her presence is noted. One scribe actually looks up from his work to double check who speaks. The general murmur of the court quiets. Romorith passes her filing documents to the judge’s scribe.

“What is his crime?”

Lander rolls forward, but barely can see over the rail. Durandal stands next to her.

“Interference with an ongoing investigation of the Unjust Existence Extermination Investigation Force, and crimes pending investigation.” Romorith carefully leaves space to charge the paladin with battery if just the interference charge isn’t enough to keep him under wraps.

“Sir Roland Durandal of Bandon and the Second Strabthine Empire, are you present?”

“I am.” Durandal is confident. “Legate Cyneberg Lander will assist.” The difference in the script is noted.

“How do you answer the charge against you?”

“I am guilty.” Durandal does not flinch.

“With consent of the court, you are not contesting these charges.” The herald’s voice holds no amusement. It’s not unheard of for a person to simply admit their guilt, particularly when the charges are as minimal as these.

A scribe checks a calendar and then flashes a coded message to the herald.

“At the ninth bell tomorrow morning you will appear in court for your confession, review of the case set against you, and sentencing.”

A chill fills the courtroom, but it has nothing to do with Durandal’s less than theatrical arraignment. Lander hasn’t even spoken. She’s only played witness. Romorith imagines that if their charges had been unfair in the legate’s eyes she would have taken action. Romorith isn’t sure that the legate still won’t do something tonight.

But this chill, it’s not relevant to Lander’s state of mind either. Romorith slowly turns around, pivoting on her heels.

An overly dramatic elven wizard dressed all in blue enters the courtroom. Behind him floats a bespelled cage of force, the spell’s edges barely visible like poorly made glass in a bowl of water. Inside the cage, Adrien Bellemare stands placidly. His hands are held behind his back with heavy manacles, and the cage sways with every step the wizard takes, but the vampire maintains his balance.

Behind the vampire trails a lawyer in bright red doublet and hose. He is a serpente lowblood, and his scales are striped in vibrant black, red, and yellow. Romorith tries to remember the rhyme, how does it go? Red on black, you’re dead, Jack? Or was it red on yellow, you’re a dead fellow? She knows there’s something like that, so either this is a king snake or a coral snake, but either way she knows she’s spotted a snake.

There’s some particularly unpleasant serpente stereotypes brewing in the back of the district attorney’s mind that distracts her briefly. She takes a moment to shuffle to the correct document in her arsenal while the scribes finish documenting Durandal’s charges.

“What grievance do the people name?” The herald is unshakable.

“We argue that one Adrien Bellemare, naturalized citizen of the United Non-Evil Necromantic State and Two Rivers, has committed crimes against safety, personhood, and the Charter, in Two Rivers.” The already quiet room grows unnaturally so.

Romorith had contemplated long and hard on whether she would add the Charter crimes enhancement to the charge, and considered leaving it out with Lander in the room. But seeing that Lander was not going to stand in the way of sentencing Durandal on the charge he was clearly guilty of gave her the confidence to go through with it even under the watchful glare of the legate.

The hush in the room breaks as Lander’s wheels squeak against the tile as she turns toward Romorith. A dark grimace fills her face, and Romorith can see that the enhanced sentencing requirement is something the legate approves.

The wizard draws Bellemare to the rail, and the serpente lawyer follows. Lander and Durandal stand in their way. In the brief battle of wills, the wizard is the loser, scooting to the side to allow the paladin and the legate to pass. The lawyer follows suit only after it is clear that the force cage will run right into him if he does not move. Romorith passes her paperwork to the scribe.

“What is his crime?”

“One count of forgery, sixteen counts of kidnapping, twenty four counts of illegal use of magic for the purposes of mind control, one count of Spawn creation, and further crimes pending investigation.”

“Only one Spawn?” the herald asks, breaking the script. The judge leans over and takes the documents from the scribe. His linen wrapped face is unreadable.

“And further crimes pending investigation.” Romorith answers, her eyes focused on the judge to avoid giving away too much information to the snake in the grass.

The herald shakes his head quietly.

“Adrien Bellemare, naturalized citizen of the United Non-Evil Necromantic State and Two Rivers, are you present?” It’s hardly a question. Who else could the vampire in the force cage be?

“I am he.” Bellemare’s voice is harsh. “Leonardo Cerna is my attorney.”

He’s off script, but the herald lets it slide.

“How do you answer the charges against you?”

“Not guilty.” Romoroith keeps her thoughts of surprise to herself. The serpente doesn’t have an accent. There’s not the slightest hint of a hiss when the lawyer answers for Bellemare.

The scribe and the herald confer again via swift signs as the scribe checks the calendar.

“Return to court Thursday at the first bell after high noon to begin trial.”

“Wait.” The judge interrupts. He is possibly the only person in the room besides the vampire who could command such attention as focuses on him now. “Due to the seriousness of charges against the Charter, We would like more time dedicated to hearing this case. Move it to Tuesday.”

“Yes, your honor.” The scribe and herald answer in unison.

“Adrien Bellemare, District Attorney Romorith, you are to return to court Tuesday at the third bell after high noon to begin trial.”

The vampire is removed from the courtroom.

Romorith and Cerna follow him out. Romorith finds Cerna’s face difficult to read, but his overall posture is one of utmost confidence.

“Crimes against the charter?” Cerna asks the district attorney once his client is out of earshot. “Don’t you think that’s a bit of a heavy charge?”

“It describes what he’s done accurately,” Romorith answers.

“We’ll see.”