With little fanfare, the delegates of the House Anselm rode through the alabaster streets of Skyhaven to the base of the grand Phoenix Tower - the nexus of all things in Elyden. The crowds - who had pressed into one another on these very streets to witness the splendor of House Sovanid and Marrow, the grand parade of Khitani horses, or the fantastic Odeshian elephants - had dispersed at least a candlemark before. There was no celebration to witness the arrival of the representatives of House Anselm. Of all the noble houses of Elyden, none were more overlooked than that of the sons of Yorick Anselm. Of those serfs and burghers who could even recall House Anselm, fewer still knew for what Anselm was known. They could not ascribe to it the glory and majesty of the greater houses. Sovanid and Paragon conjured images of fabulous wealth; Marrow and Ashtoken were exotic and regal. Lord James Conrad commanded the formidable fleet of Sharktooth Isle, and Lord Roman Benedikt had piety that all other lords envied. What, then, did Anselm have?

The Weald: an inarable wilderness inhabited by a tribe of recalcitrant savages. Nary a day went by that Valerien Paragon's name went uncursed for gifting to Yorick the most depauperate of all the realms.

The delegation of House Anselm could scarcely compare to those of the earlier houses. They were two: Lord Barad Anselm and Heldan - part soothsayer, part adviser to the Anselm Court. They rode upon Northern Painteds, a stocky, hardier breed from the north of Elyden more accustomed to plowing stoney fields than long riding or campaigning. To the monied men of Skyhaven, Alabastis, and Talonspire, they were a pauper's horse. Amongst elephants and Khitani warsteeds, Lord Anselm and Heldan may as well have rode to Skyhaven on asses. The pair were met by stablehands and squires who accepted their steeds all the same, taking the reigns from the horses as the two dismounted and made their way up the steps up to the atrium of the Phoenix Tower.

Striding in the cool, long shadow of the Skyhaven's immaculate citadel, Heldan withdrew the gray cloak from his face and set it about his neck and revealed a positively ancient visage. His scalp was entirely bald and speckled here and there with liverspots. Crows feet crisscrossed about his face, joining into thick webs of wrinkles that hung from the corners of his mouth and under his eyes while a long, pointed nose drooped down over his mouth. Most commanding about the cloaked elder was his eyes - there were no pupils to be seen. One might think Heldan blind had they not seen him walk without difficulty up the steps - without so much as the aid of a staff in spite of his age. Milky white eyes peered forever forward, perhaps unsettling the guards who allowed he and Lord Barad Anselm through the vestibule without delay.

Barad was far younger than his adviser. He was a small chinned man who seemed to scowl constantly. He sported a beard and a thin goatee of the same scraggly brown hair cut short upon his head. While his beard and mustache worked well to conceal his weak chin, it did nothing to hide the bitter frown. A navy wool tabard draped over a leather tunic bore the wolverine sigil of House Anselm, identifying him to the guards who could not readily recognize the Anselm Lord by his face like most could for the Lords of the greater houses. With no celebration or recognition, Barad and Heldan were allowed beyond the phoenix portcullis into the main parlor where the other lords and their entourages had gathered.

Barad made no attempt to engage in small talk with the other lords, painfully envious of the numerous guests they had all brought with them. They had arrived with knights and honor guards clad in the finest armor; beautiful, bronze-skinned maidens of the southeast; merchants whose personal wealth dwarfed the coffers of lesser houses many times over. Barad's entourage consisted of a single decrepit Eldfolk seer. Even so, in spite of Barad's disdain for the Eldfolk and the wealth they had sapped from his house, the bitter lord recognized Heldan's talents and typically heeded whatever wise counsel he could provide. The ancient adviser's wisdom notwithstanding, Barad wanted nothing more than to hide from the scrutiny of the other houses. With Heldan in tow, he slipped through the crowd and came across the parlor's grand mural. There were a few others here, orbiting beyond the main congregation and inspecting the painting. A large swathe of the wall had been devoted to a fresco commemorating a battle against the fell wyrms and the heroes that slew them. Displayed prominently near the center, Barad found the progenitor of his house. Yorick Anselm, the young woodcutter-turned-wyrmslayer, lunged across the battlefield amidst sweeping brushstrokes of red fire. A bluish-grey blade held into his hand was buried into the chest of a collapsed wyrm. His fanged, toadlike head gasped one last ember-choked breath as Yorick's blade let loose a swirling river of thick, black wyrmblood.

Barad's hand reached for his hilt and he drew the blade out halfway of its sheath, admiring the lower half of a bastard sword comprised of a shimmering bluish-gray metal of the same color as the sword in the mural.

"Imagine," Heldan rasped, "that very blade pierced the heart of a wyrm." Indeed, two halves of giant wyrm scale had been embedded into the hilt wrappings of the sword. Two halves of a single wyrmscale - an armor that could withstand the blow of any mortal weapon - that had been sundered by the very sword that the had now been incorporated into. Not even a chest scale from the terrible Golborag could withstand the Starsteel point of Perdition.

"What of it?" Barad huffed, stuffing the blade back into it's sheath. "What did he - what did [i]we[/i] get of it? See how we are rewarded."

Barad gestured to lavish lords and their great entourages. "They were the ones that were compensated. Yorick and his sons saw none of the spoils. We have been had."

Heldan sighed. "Perhaps we have. But fret not: there is a great change coming. The Long Winter draws near, as does a great shifting of the equilibrium. Here we shall see the other houses prepare to tighten their belts. Opportunities shall be made at this council and in the coming days."

"Anselm will feast whilst all others starve."