The Summons

For the first time since you were chosen and brought into training to become nobility, you have been summoned to the Imperial City. You remember red in the skies as the Everking burned alive those who sought to overthrow him and turn the path of Mankind down a darker road, worshipping demons and the distant, hateful stars. For much of your adult life, the Imperial City has been closed to most, rumors whispering of great damage done to it during the siege while the Everking grappled with the unkind task of bringing war to his own children. Now, the Imperial City is restored after the horrors of war, or so the letter says, and you are to be among the first to witness it.

The messenger does bear the seal of the Everking, and the letter is stamped with his sigil, so there can be no ignoring it, even if some part of you may not believe.

Esteemed and devout follower,

It pleases Us to see that from a child you have grown into a lord worthy of our faith in you. Your bloodline is strong and you have lived up to it. We are pleased that our investiture in you has borne fruit.

Come the winter’s solstice, We will host a grand ball to which you and all of your peers are invited. We have been pleased with your progress thus far, but think that our guidance in recent years has been lacking. To further refine you as a noble and expand your reach, We will personally be issuing a task to you. The ball is both pretense and reward for deeds well done, currently and into the future. Should it be required, a sum to pay for your travels is held by the messenger.

We expect your presence with haste.

The letter ends abruptly with the ornate seal of the Everking himself.

The Laceradi must be saddled for your trip to the Imperial City, and the care and feeding of the great lizards is expensive. Do you take the money?

Yes: Gain 5C, and check your Selfish trait.
No: Check your Proud and Pious traits.

The Imperial City is a grander experience than any other city of man. Towers of ivory stretch towards the sky like grasping fingers trying to seize even the distant stars in their grasp. The walls are works of art unto themselves, carved over centuries by the best engravers that Mankind has produced. The approach astride your Laceradi has been designed with the city in mind, such that the road takes you around much of the granite walls, white engravings in grey stone telling the story of the Everking’s descent from the heavens, leaving behind his cousins the stars to birth mankind. The gates show the Everking, his Bride, and his three sons, their hands linked symbolically above the gate that gives you passage into the city.

The people of the Imperial City all wear masks, the smallest and perhaps most salacious of them little more than headbands that hide the brows and frame the eyes, of which most are a piercing blue though every color of the rainbow can be found in the irises of these people. More common are half masks that cover down to the bridge of their nose, but some even wear complete masks, showing only a porcelain or silver face to the world. Regardless of their dress, the people are ecstatic to see the return of nobility to their city. Everyone, from the specially trained grooms who take your Laceradi to the warmed stables inside the walls to the children, too young for masks, who call out to your groups on the streets, smile widely to see foreigners again inside the Imperial City.

After getting your fill of the pastries and drinks thrust upon you by the bakers and brewers of the city, while tailors and cobblers hawk wares richer than you have ever seen, a masked clergyman arrives, their entire body wrapped in white cloth to disguise any kind of distinguishing feature. Even their voice is carefully neutral, without tone or rasp to give a way to know them from any other of those who serve the Everking. Following their lead, you rise through the street that spirals around the city center and walk towards the palace.

If the city was a wonder, the Palace is a work of such power and beauty to strike men blind and dumb when they first gaze upon it. A latticework of white crosses the pure black stone of its walls and fortifications, made of some material glassy like obsidian but far harder. The lines seem to shift every time you stop focusing on it, sometimes becoming words, but other times you can find images in the walls, as if it was prophecy. The thoughts slide from your mind, but still call to memory stories that even the buildings and walls of the Imperial City belong to the Everking and obey his will.

Within, the walls and ceiling of the grand ballroom stretch so far that you would almost believe you could see the empty sky above, though the vaulted archways are only painted to resemble the night sky, devoid of the hateful moons and showing only the distant stars above, a reminder of the Everking’s power and where he came from so long ago. Tables set with rich food and drink beyond anything you have smelled before are heaped in long rows. Servants in half masks bustle about to ensure everyone has a full glass and a plate ready while chefs keep the meals at their perfect temperatures and stand ready to serve any who approach.

The Everking has not yet made an appearance, yet there are many other new nobles milling about already. Taebghlas Oenach, resplendent in her gown that leaves no question to her identity despite hair bound up beneath a hood and wearing a full ivory mask bearing an expression of a sly smile that covers her entire face. A group of Everking Cultists wearing less ornate masks crowd around her, hoping to gain her favor and, by extension, become closer to the Everking. On the other side of the room, not looking at the younger woman, Ansel Candalus and a group of other Councilors from the Church speak of piety and virtue to assembled nobles over glasses of rich, intoxicating red wine.

The worldly recognize Corax the Cartographer in weather stained clothing, standing off to the side of the room and drinking sullenly to be forced to attend this event. The Eternal Witness stands at the left hand of the Everking’s dias, reading from the rolls of history lore for those who are curious. The Court Genealogist takes the right side, speaking of traits taken from ancestors for those who wish to know their pasts. Requests to purchase busts of honored ancestors change hands already, from the most pious of the new nobility to the Church.

Without the Everking to call the room to order, everyone is free to mingle and talk or simply enjoy the festivities.

Refused Compensation for Travel. Pious and Proud Checked.

Conand, Lord of the newly formed House Cethleann, stood quietly with a half full glass of wine balanced in his hand. The party guests were keeping a noticeable distance from the freshly ascended noble. Gossip of the crimson eyed lord clad in black finery was already starting to travel among the usual circles. It mattered little to the man at this point. There were more pressing matters that deserved his attention. In the privacy of his own manor, he might have enjoyed such festivities more gregariously, but in this place he felt the weight of his newfound responsibilities stifling his sense of levity. Their liege summoned him here with the intent of assigning them a task. As He had stated himself, this celebration was all a mask, and the prospect of better serving the Everking left Conand brimming with anticipation.

Lord Cethleann found himself listening idly to the words of the court Genealogist, not approaching himself but enjoying the reactions of those who wished to borrow his insights. Conand knew from an early age the origin of his blood, for good or ill. He would rather it not be spoken openly to the whole of the court however.

Meanwhile, the good lord could see his wife, Amalia, haggling quite aggressively with an artisan over a commission for a bust of one of their ancestors. She never was one to settle for just the asking price of anything, and he admired that about her. Still, he hoped her aggressiveness didn't reflect poorly on her later on.