Carter sits down, laying the satchel at his feet. He remains silent, not giving a word of greeting, either not knowing where to begin or whether he should, just waiting there politely. Ducal Suite:Foyer--Tower of Dreams(#3850RJ$) The foyer is elegantly appointed in white and gold, the height of Baroque splendor. The white marble floor is covered in an oriental rug of beiges and creams. A few elegant chairs, with cushions of white and gold brocade, are lined against the wall. In the middle of the row of chairs, on a small table covered with a gold-tassled table-cloth, sits a vase of live flowers. A decanter of liqueur and several glasses also rest on the table. A handful of Nevers hide themselves in the gilded bas-relief of cherubs high upon the ceiling. A large window, its heavy curtains pulled back, gives a breathtaking view of Caer York. Light and shadow intertwine in a glittering show on the gold. Here, courtiers wait, and messengers often come and go. Servants see that those that wait are kept in comfort, making it easy to spend a long while here. (Servant commands availiable in 'servhelp'.) Contents: Brandon Epoch's 2nd paper(#11823Vh) Obvious exits: Hall Study Carter(#2619P>#cf$) This is a tall man, over six feet tall, with a wiry, vigorous build, and a high-cheekboned, thin face. His hair is dark brown, almost black, parrted in the middle and hanging loosely down across his ears. He is dressed with shabby respectability, like someone formerly rich or just academic: a black single-breasted suit coat woven through with grey threads, a smooth grey shirt with a half-knotted maroon and dark blue patterned tie pulled down from his loose collar, wrinkled grey pants and comfortable-looking black loafers. A pair of glasses, horn-and-wire-rimmed, peek out curiously from his coat pocket, like a small, hidden badge. His voice is a thrilling low energetic sound, with the slightest tinge of upper-class Southern to the accent, and seems to part the air before it and close the air behind it on its way to your ears and your ears alone. His eyes are a greenish-brown, of a remarkable clarity, depth and directness. The overall impression is that of a man formidably attractive and compelling. Carter looked you over. Brandon Brandon Wallace stands 6'4", firm and lean for a man in his fifties. With his silver hair and one piercing blue eye, this man seems to have all the charm and beguiling respect that comes from a member of the Southern Aristocracy. His hair is cut s hort and combed back in a fashionable style, only thinned a little on top. His left eye is covered with a simple and small black eyepatch. Upon his body he wears a cream suit with no necktie and a pair of black shoes. Those of finer tastes may notice that while his nails are manicured, his hands are rough and calloused as if he is used to working hard. When he speaks it is with a gruff but lilting voice, the kind of lazy and self-confident tone of a southern man. -=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=- Cornelius Brightforge stands before you in all his noble glory. Like most Sidhe he bears the long limbs and ethereal noble beauty of his kith, lean and strong, but he is a little different. While he is beautiful and awe inspiring, his beauty is not so much in his appearance as it is in the way he carries himself. His arms and hands are strong and defined, showing the signs of the work he is known for. Placed between his noble brow and high cheekbones is one brilliant emerald green eye. His left is is milk white, seeing nothing but uncovered for all the world to see it. Despite his great age, the man's hair still burns a fire red like flames from the forge. It rises up about 4 inches and seems to wave as if liquid flame. With the hair rising up, his long pointed ears are easily seen, longer and sharper now as the years have gone by. Cornelius wears riding clothes. Upon his breast is tunic of heavy shimmering green cloth with a gold stitched insignia of House Dougal upon it, while his hands are covered with gloves of black leather. Upon his legs are white loose leggings that s eem to have been made from the feathers of some great bird, carefully weaved and stitched to make the cloth that now covers the man. Upon his feet are nearly knee high black riding boots. Around his waist is a belt of black with a golden buckle with the insignia of the Kingdom of Willows upon it. Hanging from the belt is Cornelius' obsidion warhammer with inlaid runes of silver and gold. Cornelius wears a blood red sash with the symbol of the Red Branch upon it, a token of grief for a loved one now lost. -=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=- Carter seems like a satyr... -=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=- In his fae seeming, this satyr looks very similar to his mortal seeming. His hairy goat-legs poke at the inside of his trousers, jointed differently than his mortal knees, of course, and a pair of clean yellow-brown horns jut up slightly, then back to a point, like Hermes' winged helmet, from just above his forehead. His vigorous and attractive appearance is heightened in the light of the Dreaming, which seems oddly active around him, charged up with anticipation, or with excitement, or with some unnameable unfathomable emotion that seems to stir the very air around him with its intensity. -=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=- Carter looked my fae desc over. Brandon says simply with his rumbling voice and a slight shift in his chair, "I received your letters, of course. So let me get to the point, hmmm? I will not commute or lessen any sentence on Epoch, though I will consider not making him rot in prison for all eternity if he can restore the Countess. As for you, what is your stake in all this?" Carter drawls easily, his voice sliding from his vocal chords easily, drawing out the words like pulling silk across skin. "I must admit I have no interest in the Countess. But Lia O'Shea...I cannot imagine anyone knowing her and not having, to put it so very bluntly, a stake." He pauses. "So you will allow Doctor Epoch to be released, so that we can attempt this?" Brandon makes a little noise in his throat, but otherwise his face seems passive, almost a mask. His Georgia accent is a purr, though his face shows no amusement of happiness to warrant the sound. "You may attempt it, of course. Lia O'Shea, as you say, is an important person...countess or no. Epoch will be quested to ensure his..cooperation. Pardon me if my trust in him is lacking slightly. You will be escorted as well." Carter says gently, "I have no objections to an oath - neither does Epoch. We would both gladly and voluntarily swear one. But an escort...well, I do not need to tell you that Epoch and I have unusual methods. I suppose if the escort were properly instructed it could be helpful, but..." He trails off slightly, "We -must- be allowed to take our own direction. It is paramount. As I say, the tried-and-true traditional methods have failed. Stephanos and Phil both expressed interest to me. I know both are to some degree at least Oathed to you -- if they know that Epoch and I, that we must be allowed latitude in our efforts, then I don't anticipate a problem. But if they are to direct and supervise..." he says. "You might as well just send your own people and let Epoch...rot." Brandon takes up a piece of parchment and a quill pen. He begins to scratch away, a slight frown on his face as he writes. "If Stephanos wants to go, then he can go. Do what you think you need to do, however, do not break the Escheat. I don't care how strange you are, but break the rules again and you'll find yourself in need of a counsellor. Do I make myself clear?" He folds the parchment and seals it with wax and his ring. Glamour fuses into the letter, sealing it magically so that only the recipient of the letter will be able to open it. Carter runs one hand through his hair, perhaps in an attempt to smooth it down - an unsuccessful attempt, of course. "The man who practices civil disobedience," he drawls gently, "can hardly complain when authorities compel him to do otherwise. I don't anticipate any problems with the Escheat." You say "I personally could never see much point in breaking it in the first place. But my work is not Epoch's, and I am not him." Brandon simply nods his head, and then holds out the letter to you. "Take that to Stephanos. That should be enough for now." Carter takes the letter and rises. "May I take Epoch with me as well, or does this say Stephanos should get him released?" He taps the letter easily against his hand. Brandon says "Stephanos will release Epoch, and then bring you both here to be oathed to the Quest." Carter nods a little. "Understood." he says. He turns, without thanks, picking up his satchel, and moving towards the door. He pauses there, looking back slightly. "Strange." he mouths, like he was tasting the word on his tongue, unfamiliar and foreign. Then he looks around a little, one last time, and smiles to the guard a smile of hope and determination, and then his long legs piston him away down the hallway, once again, far ahead of his escort. Brandon watches you go, still sitting in his chair. He looks old, so very old just when you look away, and he sighs quietly to himself. Ladies in waiting come to attend, offering a pillow and hot tea.