Ladies and Gentleman, of the Empire and the Three kingdoms...

Moments later the Herald introduces another Lord and Lady.

"Ladies and gentlemen, of the empire and the three kingdoms, I give you Lord Asher Larson, Baron or Burwin, and his wife Lady Elaine... "

At these words, the Lord and Lady of Burwin enter. Lord Asher enters with his broad shoulders and arms muscled of years of hard. His face is scarred and his skin tanned like that of a commoner. his dark hair complements his skin. he looks older than he is. He is dressed in dark blue and green, embroiled on his Dark blue doublet is a orange fish jumping from the water. He wears no crown or jewelry. at his side is a beautyful lady with fiery red hais and skin as white as milk. She wears a orange dress. they look unconfortable at such an ocasion.

Looking around the room he thinks Man, what a fancypances, I need a Drink not speaking until he is spoken to. something he always does when nervous.

 

"Burwin, okay." Her brows furrow. "Kingsfall.… Kingsfall? I thought I knew all the baronies in the Empire…?" She glances to the pursuivant.

He sighs and shakes his head.

Her eyes widen a bit. "Oh. One of those." She turns her back on the entryway. "How did he come by an invitation?"

He purses his lips and shrugs: not a man noted for loquaciousness, to be sure. "Might be intriguing to see if he lives up to his name."

She contemplates her wine glass, considers this for a moment, then twists one corner of her lips into a wry smile. "You know, it just might, at that." She turns back to see who the winds of fortune will blow in next.…

 

Alec paused for a moment, waiting for the herald to announce him.

"Introducing the Lord Alecsander Hollo, Baron of Ravnitz, son of Lady Juliana and the late Lord Janos accompanying him is his wife the Lady Katarina"

He took Kat's hand and stepped into the ballroom. His raven-black was cropped short and he wore a white fox pin on his deep green doublet. Kat tucked a strand of her nut-brown hair behind her ear and followed. On her breast she wore the swooping raven of the House Hollo. Outwardly, they appeared calm but the fact that, at sixteen, they were among the youngest at the gathering set their nerves on edge.

 

"Ladies and Gentlemen, of the empire and the three kingdoms," the Herald said shortly after. "I give you Lord Serafim Cardei, Baron of Ilidachli."

Serafim strolled into the hall, wearing a thin smile. His long black dress robes bore the emblem of his house, a stone tower. His hair was neatly trimmed, and his face clean shaven. In his hands, he carried a scroll, with well crafted leather handled rollers. He gave slight nods to the few in the room that he knew before glancing behind him.

Following him was his manservant, a large man who most would recognise as a peasant from his lack of grace and unwashed beard. His clothes however, were of embroidered silk. Any who looked at his eyes might see that he was more than his posture and demeanour might suggest. He kept several feet behind his master, as Serafim began to mingle.

 

"I present to you Lord Brytal Ebryn, Baron of Rechtenherz, son of the late Lord Harin and Lady Guelda. Accompanying him is his wife Lady Gwyse and his sister Lady Dretta Ebryn!"

Brytal enters into the hall. Gwyse leans on his arm, and Dretta follows close behind them. He makes a quick survey of the room. As a new family, he will have to be prepared to prove the name Ebryn to all who doubt him.

A reassuring squeeze from Gwyse reminds him that he is not alone. There are others who bear the jewel of House Ebryn proudly.

 

"Mm-hmm. Ravnitz. Good-looking couple of kids; stood up better than a lot I've seen at confirmations. Shame about–"

She glances around. The pursuivant's face is completely blank… which was his look of utter disapproval. Took her years to learn that one.

She pouts. "Never mind. Ilidachli… you'd think he'd been at this long enough to know when one is and isn't supposed to bring one's help around, wouldn't you?" The question was, of course, rhetorical, nor would she have expected an answer even if it hadn't been. "Hendelsbach." She pops a cheesed biscuit in her mouth, tosses an appreciative smile the baron's direction. He doesn't see it–but then she would have been mortified if he had. "And Rechtenherz. Now there's an interesting story waiting to happen. Not a position I'd care to occupy."

The pursuivant's right eyebrow poses a question.

She scowls–for her, a movement as subtle and flitting as the smile a moment earlier. She'd had a good teacher, regarding such. "Yes, I'm sure. Absolutely sure." Her headshake barely nudges the honey braid between her shoulder blades. "Ah, he'll do fine. The Ebryns are solid."

This time, her silent interlocutor seems puzzled… which nearly causes her to laugh aloud in astonishment. "Don't tell me I actually know something about a bloodline that you don't!"

"There are first occasions for all things," he intones.

You damn betcha, she thinks–though not until she's turned her face away. No need for him to read that.…

 

If she's a day over twenty, you'll turn your coronet in. Ditto if he's a day under three hundred. Okay, maybe only two hundred and fifty. Seen one geezer, seen 'em all.

What really impresses you, though, is that you appear to be one of the few people who's noticed them at all–and she, at least, seems as though she ought to be difficult to overlook. Even more impressive is that they don't appear to notice you in the least. Face it: you've been ignored by some of the best, and snubbed by even better, but what with one thing and another, you're beginning to wonder if they aren't ghosts… or maybe you are.

An impression that's reinforced as you glance away for a bare instant, only to discover that they've absented themselves once you look back.…

 

Lord Asher politly engages Lord Johan in conversation. He is the first Lord Asher talks to, appart from his wife Lady Elaine. It seems the boy can only talk about agriculture and harvest. But Lord Asher deftly changes the subject to fishing just before Lord Johan takes off again. he rather likes the boy, and wonders if he should invite him to visit Burwin one day. Lord Asher looks around the room and wonders who will talk to him next.

 

The herald spoke up again. "Ladies and Gentlemen of the empire and the three kingdoms, I give you Lord Jonathan Baumgarten of Rivishvech, son of the late Lord Samuel Baumgarten. He is accompanied by his wife Lady Susanah Baumgarten."

Jonathan forced himself not to panic as the herald introduced him. Susanah's hand was tucked into his arm; he must have tightened his grip, because she shot him a sympathetic look.

He forced a smile on his face in response, trying to reassure her that he was up to this ordeal, even after the all too brief mourning period for his father. Trying not to keep thinking that his father should be the one standing here . . .

 

Behind them, a wiry, rough-shaven man entered alone. His long hair was tangled with knots and braids, his tanned skin roughened by ravaging winds and spray. An old-fashioned frilled shirt and charcoal greatcoat marked him out as a man unused to court.

"Baron Cargast Nerthus of Merscinga"

Taking the proferred cup of wine, Cargast moved uneasily to a corner of the room to observe the polite introductions and assessments between the guests. Suddenly he felt very self conscious about the dark-stain tattoos that crept like vines along his neck and arms. Are any of these people Barons like him? Did they struggle for their position, as his family had, or was it given to them? If he were to find out, this would be the circle he and his kin would have to break into.

Sighing, he scanned the room for someone to approach. Githa would have been so much better at this than I, he reflected glumly as he stepped onto the floor.

 

Baron Cargast Nerthus, ey. Thought lord Asher. He looked at the man in the corner, and noticed that he did not look like the fancypances all around him. Sure they were polite to Asher, but did not have anything in common for them. While Cargast looked like a hardworking man, a man who knew the dangers of the waters, like Asher. Perhaps this meeting could finaly become interesting.

He walked up to the man to have a chat. leaving his wife's side.

 

As the various guests mill about and try not to make any major etiquette errors, the door herald proclaims, in a slightly-more-pompous-than-usual voice: "His Highness, Prince Manchovar." An elderly, marginally stooped gentleman follows upon the heels of this announcement. His white hair is swept back from a receding hairline, though it is still thick enough to be caught up at the nape. His clothing is impeccable, and, if simple in cut and color, is nonetheless clearly of the finest stuff.

Which makes it seem all the more peculiar to you that you can all but hear the eyes rolling in people's heads as he is announced, and that the higher levels of quality seem to be ebbing slightly to the edges of the room as he strolls down the middle, greeting everyone pleasantly, for the most part by name, if with perhaps less than full attention. If anything, he seems most interested in those for whom he requires introductions.