view was a pleasant one, and made the waiting he was forced to endure more bearable.
He'd made his way to Pomoryan, the small duchy in the northernmost reaches of the German Alliance, solely to speak with Jaromar. Although carefully neutral in political matters, the elven-controlled Duchy of Pomoryan had been known to trade favors with the Princes of Tir Tairngire in the past. Of course, they also forged political alliances with Tír na nÓg, Tir Tairngire's political rival across the Atlantic, in the nearby British Isles. Tír na nÓg was considerably closer to Pomoryan, but to date, the tiny Duchy had not attracted too much attention from either elven power, which seemed to be the duke's preference.
"Herr Silverblade, my apologies for keeping you waiting." came a voice from behind Speren. He turned to see the duke himself standing in the open doorway onto the balcony. Duke Jaromar Grief was tall, like most elves, with a thin, almost emaciated form. His dark hair was neatly combed back from a high forehead that spoke of intellect, and his small beard was neatly trimmed. He was dressed in clothing nearly as archaic as Speren's own: a deep blue frock coat over a blue waistcoat stamped with gold leaf designs. Foamy lace showed at his collar and cuffs. He wore tight-fitting pants tucked into polished black riding boots, which were spattered with mud. From that, and the riding crop he held in his hands, Speren concluded that the duke had been out on a morning ride.
Jaromar touched the fingers of his left hand to his chest and bowed slightly by way of greeting. Speren copied the gesture, bowing a bit deeper, as was fitting when greeting someone of the duke's stature. Jaromar was not as powerful as the Princes of Speren's homeland, but he was still the ruler of his own kingdom, and that made him worthy of respect.
"Please, Your Grace," Speren replied, "it is I who apologize for intruding on your household. However, I have come about a matter of some urgency."
"I am always pleased to assist my noble cousins of the
Land
of Promise." the duke replied smoothly. "Please, won't you come in and join me? I was about to have breakfast." Speren nodded and followed as the duke went back inside.
The manor of Konigssthul was nowhere near as splendid as the
Royal
Palace
in Tir Tairngire, nor even as lavish as the duke's official residence in the capital city of Safinitz, but it was still quite large, and charming in its own way. As they walked, the duke described to Speren how the manor house had been restored from an earlier existing structure not long after he had assumed the role of duke. The house was surrounded by acres of land along the shores of the Baltic Sea, and the duke kept a stable of horses, for he was an avid equestrian.
Jaromar led Speren into a dining room dominated by a long hardwood table, easily capable of seating two dozen. Crystal chandeliers hung from the plastered ceiling, and one wall was dominated by a tall tapestry hanging from a brass rod; on it was woven a rampant griffin in gold on a field of deepest blue. The curtains were drawn back from the high windows at the far end of the room, filling the chamber with light. Speren could already see that the table was set for two, with crisp white linens, fine china, and silverware.
A human servant wearing the duke's livery appeared with a bootjack to help remove Jaromar's muddied riding boots, exchanging them for a pair of soft house slippers. Speren had already surrendered his sword upon entering the manor. He now yielded up his cloak to the servant, who disappeared through one of the many doors surrounding the room as the duke settled himself at the head of the table and gestured toward the chair at his right.
"Please, join me." he said, and Speren sat down. Another servant brought covered platters and trays of food to the table and began serving as the duke leaned back in his chair and regarded Speren.
"So, then, what brings you to my humble home, Herr
He'd made his way to Pomoryan, the small duchy in the northernmost reaches of the German Alliance, solely to speak with Jaromar. Although carefully neutral in political matters, the elven-controlled Duchy of Pomoryan had been known to trade favors with the Princes of Tir Tairngire in the past. Of course, they also forged political alliances with Tír na nÓg, Tir Tairngire's political rival across the Atlantic, in the nearby British Isles. Tír na nÓg was considerably closer to Pomoryan, but to date, the tiny Duchy had not attracted too much attention from either elven power, which seemed to be the duke's preference.
"Herr Silverblade, my apologies for keeping you waiting." came a voice from behind Speren. He turned to see the duke himself standing in the open doorway onto the balcony. Duke Jaromar Grief was tall, like most elves, with a thin, almost emaciated form. His dark hair was neatly combed back from a high forehead that spoke of intellect, and his small beard was neatly trimmed. He was dressed in clothing nearly as archaic as Speren's own: a deep blue frock coat over a blue waistcoat stamped with gold leaf designs. Foamy lace showed at his collar and cuffs. He wore tight-fitting pants tucked into polished black riding boots, which were spattered with mud. From that, and the riding crop he held in his hands, Speren concluded that the duke had been out on a morning ride.
Jaromar touched the fingers of his left hand to his chest and bowed slightly by way of greeting. Speren copied the gesture, bowing a bit deeper, as was fitting when greeting someone of the duke's stature. Jaromar was not as powerful as the Princes of Speren's homeland, but he was still the ruler of his own kingdom, and that made him worthy of respect.
"Please, Your Grace," Speren replied, "it is I who apologize for intruding on your household. However, I have come about a matter of some urgency."
"I am always pleased to assist my noble cousins of the
Land
of Promise." the duke replied smoothly. "Please, won't you come in and join me? I was about to have breakfast." Speren nodded and followed as the duke went back inside.
The manor of Konigssthul was nowhere near as splendid as the
Royal
Palace
in Tir Tairngire, nor even as lavish as the duke's official residence in the capital city of Safinitz, but it was still quite large, and charming in its own way. As they walked, the duke described to Speren how the manor house had been restored from an earlier existing structure not long after he had assumed the role of duke. The house was surrounded by acres of land along the shores of the Baltic Sea, and the duke kept a stable of horses, for he was an avid equestrian.
Jaromar led Speren into a dining room dominated by a long hardwood table, easily capable of seating two dozen. Crystal chandeliers hung from the plastered ceiling, and one wall was dominated by a tall tapestry hanging from a brass rod; on it was woven a rampant griffin in gold on a field of deepest blue. The curtains were drawn back from the high windows at the far end of the room, filling the chamber with light. Speren could already see that the table was set for two, with crisp white linens, fine china, and silverware.
A human servant wearing the duke's livery appeared with a bootjack to help remove Jaromar's muddied riding boots, exchanging them for a pair of soft house slippers. Speren had already surrendered his sword upon entering the manor. He now yielded up his cloak to the servant, who disappeared through one of the many doors surrounding the room as the duke settled himself at the head of the table and gestured toward the chair at his right.
"Please, join me." he said, and Speren sat down. Another servant brought covered platters and trays of food to the table and began serving as the duke leaned back in his chair and regarded Speren.
"So, then, what brings you to my humble home, Herr
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