Cornack Manor, Derbyshire England.
December 26th, 1929. 
7:30 PM 
[hr]
[center][i]Great deeds are usually wrought at great risks[/i]. 
-Herodotus[/center]

"My lord?" 

The snow drifted lazily along the front yard of the manor, flakes clinging to the window Thomas Cornack gazed without. It was a cold evening, one he could feel within his bones. Idly, he rubbed his thumb along the bronze, chameleon engraved locket his brother had given him two decades ago. His retainer had to inquire about him a second time for him to break from his reverie. 

"Lord Cornack?" the servant urged, concerned of how this entire enterprise could effect the elderly fellow. He wasn't decrepit or helpless yet, but the past 12 years had taken a toll on even his lively energy."Hmmm?" The elderly man started. He turned to the ever loyal Bertrand. "Yes, Bertrand?" 

"The first of your arrivals is here, sir. It seems to be the young Alcander. The lad you met a fortnight past?" Bertrand reminded him, aiding him out of his chair with a careful strength.
"Ah, fashionably early I see." Thomas Cornach said with fire, reaching for his cane. "I remember him. He reminded me of Bradley so very much." The servant gave a smile. "As he did me, sir." 

Thomas glanced at Bertrand for a moment as he helped him up, and thanked God that such a man was to serve under him. The Brookstones had been retainers and squires to the Cornacks for centuries, and not once did the Cornacks ever have reason to regret it. Of course they had been kind patrons and nobles, but still. Loyalty was so rare these days. It warmed the old man that he still had family left in Bertram, if no one else. "See to the cooks and make sure they prepare the table, and let young Alcander in. I will be down shortly." 

"Yes, my lord." 
[hr]

As per his usual restlessness, Alcander had only taken the cab to the front of the estate, which still gave him a fair mile to walk in the ever colder temperature of the calm night, something he was now regretting. From his childhood in London, one would think he'd be used to the climate. Oh, he was stoic about it. He'd had a few forays into the frigid regions of the world, most recently Scandanavia. But he had a very real fondness for tropical climates. 

The outer wall he had passed through was stone, encompassing the entire estate if he had to guess. Alcander briefly recalled his old lessons in english history, and had the suspicion that this estate was once a fortified manor in the medieval period. It certainly gave such an impression with its imposing defenses and gateway, not to mention a very handsome stable to the left. Within he could hear the short neighing of the beasts, and he smiled. He had not ridden a horse in some time. 

As he approached, he passed by tangled foliage he assumed would be exquisitely trimmed hedges and a bountiful garden had it been a warmer time of year. Above in the window, a small flicker of light caught in his peripherals, indicating movement. It must have been one of the butlers having seen him, and the archaeologist pulled his coat tighter around him, expecting to be waiting outside a moment as they announced him to the Lord and traversed the many corridors to reach the front doorway. Unfortunately for Alcander, it would take 10 minutes of waiting and a dozen knocks before his prayers for warmth were answered.

When the door opened to reveal the handsomely dressed retainer Bertram, Alcander nearly bit his tongue on his chattering teeth. "Yes, Dr. Mires. How are you this evening?" Bertram asked, conversationally. His words seemed to flow out lazily past his stylish mustache. Alcander was a bit too cold and impatient to answer cordially. "Fine, how are you?" He said quickly, and he stepped inside just as Bertram replied with a 'please come in.' 

"Allow me to take your coat. Please find yourself a seat in the banquet hall. You are the first to arrive, you're to know." 

Alcander slid his coat off to show one of the few more fashionable vests and long sleeved shirts he owned. He felt the chill seeping off of him as if ice was melting. He felt rigid enough, and the scholar reached up to fix his collar, the movement limbering him up slightly. "Thank you." He said. 

The room they stood in now was a foyer of dark marble, the size of a moderately wealthy man's living room. To the right was a finely polished table with a bust of Socrates to greet visitors. Fitting in a way, Alcander mused. He thanked Bertram, and walked into the short but tall corridor of carved timber, passing by an extravagant painting of the Song of Roland, before stepping into the immense banquet hall. It was hard to describe the sheer size because it was belied by the comfortable surroundings of chairs and hearths, along with a gilded chandelier above the long table. Upon the center of the table was a globe. 

Alcander decided to sit and wait, drinking a very sweet pint of mead as he waited.