Before the Gates of Anvard
A flat green space at the foot of the mountains opens here, sheltered by the slopes of the northern mountains. Stormness Head looms high to the northeast, its peak nearly always in clouds, and the double-headed peak of Mount Pire rises over the trees to the northwest. A steep ridge like the side of a bowl curves around from the northwest to the east, and the ground descends into dense forest to the south.
At the center of the clear area is a small turreted castle, facing east. Its weathered walls are built of large blocks of red granite that glitter faintly in the sunlight, and elegantly functional ironwork graces the front gates and portcullis. A stone cobbled road wide enough to easily facilitate the passage of carts and carriages crosses over the broad green lawns from the castle gates, disappearing into the trees to the east.
(OOC note: This log contains a busy crowd scene and has been edited and color-coded for readability.)
Lune wanders around the space of the lawn being set up for the feast, chatting with nobles and commoners alike. He’s clearly in high spirits, and every now and then his loud, booming laugh bells out at something said.
Astera beams with energy and happiness as she holds her daughter, telling the story of Mount Pire. She is hanging around the edges, not yet mingling with the crowd but clearly her heart is light.
Aliyah pads towards the castle grounds, nose twitching at all of the different but delightful scents.
Tempest trots through the crowd of Narnians and Archenlanders, taking everything in.
Arael comes out onto the lawn through the castle gates. She is hovering at Lanisen’s elbow, watching him and the ground closely to be sure that he doesn’t stumble or snag his cane on anything. Progress is slow, but eventually they make it.