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''Tonight.''
''Tonight.'' Your dad repeats. ''Good enough for me.''
Rikard getting up signals the start of...should you call this a trial? Surely not, that comes later. Noble food should be good, finally meeting the baron won't lead to anything bad. <span class="mu-i">Positiveness, positiveness</span>
--
Contrary to the outside, the manor's interiors weren't overly garish. The door to your side of the garden led directly into the main hall, which undeniably was the main nexus for the entire mansion. You honestly wondered if it supported the entirety of the second floor alone because of the number of pillars. The main staircase was the only high-up structure. It led directly up, whilst a pair of doors below revealed pathways further west. Is it a possible way to your destination?
<span class="mu-i">If it gets dark enough, sneaking around here with Father Sky's night veil might be a good idea...</span> Perhaps a dozen lamps chased off the shadows of the hall, how many of those will turn to empty wax by tonight? A handful of armed men are lingering nearby, almost melding in the busy background of the manor.
<span class="mu-i">Swords only, no polearms. Probably handier inside here.</span>
''We might have lucked out by coming in early in the week.'' Your dad whispers as he points his chin at the small crowd.
All the guests here were the same people you somewhat remember crossing paths with during your investigation near the tree alongside those loitering in the open garden: around ten colorful individuals gathered around the newly entered baron and his son, far too few for an actual nobleman party or significant gathering.
''Mysir Vesperus and his elven daughter, quite happy we are to be hosting you tonight!'' A strong, dignified voice somehow in the middle between manliness and nasally made you strengthen your spine a little too rigidly as the baron extracted himself from the crowd, leaving his son behind.
''It is our honor, mysir Eisenhart.'' Your dad responds, putting on a fake casual smile while giving the nobleman a firm handshake.
''Likewise mysir.'' You feign your best smile when the older gentleman kisses your offered hand.
At first glance, Bram Eisenhart doesn't exude the usual bad impressions inherent to blue blood. He has cultivated the appearance of an aged gentleman with carefully groomed semi-long hair in a healthy mixture of greyish-brown and a thick mustache covering his lip with a smaller line on his chin. A thin pair of spectacles rested on a studious face showing wrinkles of years, garbed in good clothes fitting his station, the man was average in size and weight, a commendable thing with the temptations of wealth.
''Apologies friends, our weekly revelry needs to remain on hold for the coming Solstice!'' That voice carries a surprising presence. ''Please welcome our newly established Cleric of the Path and his elven family, our good city is truly lucky to house two blessed elders!''
