Colin clambers down the stairs from the attic, clearly having been up there searching for something. A grown Puck is close on his heels. “Lanisen!” He calls out again.
Lanisen kicks the door open and backs in, arms full of the butcher’s order for the hounds. “Door!” he yells toward the stairs.
Continue reading about-face
The Library of Anvard rises around you. Reddish wooden pillars like twisted tree-trunks support the roof at even intervals, long bookcases in rows between them. The room is warmly lit by a multitude of round hung lamps, like globular fruit. The air is heavy with the sweet and musty smell of books, old and new. Hundreds of volumes line the shelves, and a few spaces between trunks have been left open for tables at which to reading and write. Thick pillar candles can be used to bring a little more yellow light to late-night researchers in these places.
The room appears to be well-dusted and well-kept, its contents carefully maintained and repaired throughout the years.
Dar is seated at one of the back tables, almost obscured by the moutain of paperwork in front of him. Despite the volume, the stack looks fairly organized and he seems to be making some progress wading through it.
Lanisen pauses just inside the door, glancing around the massive room and looking vaguely perplexed. He makes his way on in, poking around corners and into nooks, then halts on discovering the pile of paperwork. He edges to an angle where he’s slightly more visible and bows, standing without interrupting.
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Lanisen is heading through the fairly busy corridor toward his quarters, the front of his tunic held gingerly out from his body – the reason for this being that he seems to have spilled porridge or something on himself. Most likely going to clean up.
Colin clambers down the stairs, looking wide awake and ready for the day in a simple tunic.
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The stables of Anvard are not large, but they are well-ordered and tidy. The wide alley runs parallel to the outside wall, with generously sized box stalls on either side. Many hold permanent residents, with the horse’s name on a wooden sign above the stall door, but several stand empty to receive visitors. The hard-packed dirt floor is kept well swept, and the stalls are clean, but there is a pervading smell of horse and hay that is not entirely unpleasant.
There is a small paddock in the east corner of the stable, and the far west end is devoted to tack storage and maintenance. A door in the west wall, kept closed most of the time, leads to the smithy.
The stable, at this hour, is deserted and dark. There is silence except for the quiet noises of horses at their nosebags, horses asleep, horses gossiping over their stall doors. Though it isn’t quite dark outside, very little light makes it in, and there is a lantern hung on the hook outside one stall.
The stable doors open and Colin enters through them, leading his black stallion Coalblack. Both look weary and dusty from a day outside doing Emperor-Only-Knows-What. Coalblack looks around and whinnies shrilly, announcing to all the other horses that he’s back and ready for dinner.
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Lanisen is sitting against the wall a few yards from the whelping box, Puck sprawled sleeping across his lap. Lanisen, for his part, is staring wearily at something several miles off, through a couple of walls and buildings and mountains, his thoughts at least that far away. He looks exhausted.
Colin trudges up the stairs wearily. “Puck?” He says with a low whistle, topping the stairs.
Continue reading following directives
A fellow servant finds Lanisen and delivers a note strongly requesting that he meet Lord Dar in his quarters at his earliest convenience. The note is extremely formal in tone.
Continue reading like a sword
Loc sits at the bar, a little more broody than usual. He is covered in dust and appears to have been through a long day of work. He takes a long draught of his ale.
Lanisen slips into the tavern, keeping unobtrusive as usual. He halts by the door, surveying the occupants, obviously looking for somebody in particular. It takes him a moment, as the tavern is fairly busy, but once he catches sight of the broody dirty man at the bar, he breaks into a grin. He rubs the back of his neck, coughs once, schools his features into nonchalance, ambles over to take a seat next to Loc with complete unconcern, and orders an ale.
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Carmichael Village Square
You stand in the center of a quaint little country village, nestled in the foothills of the Western Mountains. There are a few shops surrounding the square, including Isfar’s blacksmith shop to the east, which is ringing with the sound of iron-on-iron. To the southwest is a small tavern, which smells of good home-cooked food. There is a traveller’s shelter to the northwest with a sign over the door that reads “Carmichael Lodge”. There is also a shop to the northeast.
The main road heads south toward the settlement, a collection of humble, neatly-kept homes to the southwest of the main town.
Lanisen is nearly asleep in the saddle. He periodically slumps forward over Pelrith’s neck, shakes himself awake, gradually dozes off, and repeats the process over again.
Dar sits straight and tall, making his own progress seem effortless. Instead of pressing on towards the Manor house itself and the welcome of his sister and brother-in-law, he makes for the inn.
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Lanisen, in the cooling evening, stands out as one of the few people in the ward making use of the inner gate. The majority of the traffic flow is toward the outer gates, market-customers wrapping up their shopping for the day and vendors heading home. Lanisen pauses to answer a question put to him by one of the guards, who seem to know him, and though his demeanor is subdued and polite, one might notice a visible eagerness to move on.
Arael comes out of one of the market stalls at a brisk pace, swinging a basket over her arm. Once she reaches the center of the courtyard, she stops short amid the evening traffic and turns a little circle about herself as she makes certain of which way to go.
Continue reading familiar face
A servant in livery comes to escort Lanisen to the Council Chamber, by the Steward’s orders.
Lanisen, following the servant sent to fetch him, enters the chamber. He hesitates at the doorway, visibly intimidated by the grandeur of the room, then approaches the Steward. He bows, then stands silently some distance from the table to await Dar’s convenience.
Continue reading upended