The great hall of House Marrath swallowed sound like a hungry beast. Vaulted ceilings soared overhead, their dark wooden beams disappearing into shadow despite the blaze of a hundred candles.
Banners hung from iron fixtures, proud colors of ancient houses, some faded with age, others bright with new ambition. Braziers cast pools of amber light that failed to chase away the darkness lurking in the corners.
Soren paused at the threshold, the weight of scrutiny settling over him like a physical thing.
'This is it,' he thought, squaring his shoulders beneath the unfamiliar weight of formal attire. 'The real battlefield.'
The chamber sprawled before him, dominated by long tables arranged in a semi-circle around a central speaking area. Each table bore the crest of a noble house, silver goblets catching firelight like stars fallen to earth.
