Matron Violetta, the leaper rowed her own boat to the small island. She would have taken more, but her...condition...begged to differ. Most labor would not work for her, no matter how rich she was. The sores on her face were starting to postulate, so she wore a burlap leaper's mask. Two crude eye holes were cut so she could see. Each of them showing a bit of her condition, oozing scabs crusting over the edges of the openings. A wet spot over her mouth had formed, as she rowed her boat she pulled the mask back, spitting a tooth into the water. She restored the mask. A smell of death came off the leaper as she arrived. Her hat on her head had a decayed flower arrangement on it. Her dress, made of the finest silks was both faded and ripped. Her hands were covered in dirty gloves, each finger having at least two expensive rings. The metal tarnished. She seemed a reflection of aristocracy. Trying it's hardest to be proper, but failing because at the core it is rotten. The Matron found a spot to stand, and bitterly spoke out.

"Does anyone know why we are all gathered here?"

The woman seemed completely annoyed with even being in this castle, much less having to sleep on the ground like some common leaper. She was not a common leaper. She was a rich and influential leaper.