Re: Old Ways IC
Brandon's ringing of the door has summoned someone. A short, sturdy woman, with probably three decades behind her, pushes open the door, forcing anyone in front of it to step back. She seemed dressed in a conservative, but informal manner, a long brown skirt covering most of her legs and a simple cream blouse. To those familiar with that part of the world, her long blonde hair in braids, dress, and general appearance mark her as a northerner or a descendant of one.
"Please, enter," she offers, ushering folks into the dark hallway beyond with one waving hand while still holding the door open with the other. "All of you, please, he's expecting you."
The interior of the fort is dark, illuminated by sunlight from various high-set windows, though the occasional scone bears a presently unlit torch. Beyond the narrow entryway is a short hallway with an oversized door on either side, and beyond that lies a large hall reminiscent of the halls of the northern jarls of faraway Osterland. A massive wooden table runs perpendicular to the entryway and at the far end sits two figures, one of them clearly Lord Bost, a tall, broad-shouldered man with coppery red hair, a full beard, and a broad smile. He sits at the head of the long table, and looks up from a side conversation with the smaller Traladaran man to his right, an employee of sometime judging by his livery.
"Welcome, all of you sit, please. Thank you for coming." He stands to greet his guests. "I am Lord Jokkum Bost," he says warmly, pronouncing it as Yokum Boast, "and I look forward to meeting you all."
Constable Roland by Balford
Who in this world is sadder than the Ice King?