Camilla giggled and slid gracefully from the saddle. It never ceased to amaze her that anyone who could wield a sword the way he did could be so poor a seat on horseback. Her eyes flicked over the pommel of his sword, currently wrapped in leather to keep the distinctive wolf pommel hidden. Maybe it was more than his poor posture that was the problem. With practiced care she placed her palm on the horses white blaze. It immediately calmed, responding to the signal for quiet.

“Now see if you can slide down without complete wrenching the saddle off,” she advised with a smirk. Cydric slid out of the saddle in an ungainly half leap, the horse whinnying in protest.

“Better put ze hood up,” she said, her accent shifting seamlessly to Brettonian as she tugged her own hood up to hide her face. Oleg’s directions called for wearing a mask and she had such a mask in one of her pouches but she was unwilling to make a spectacle of herself until she knew for sure. Even as she took the reigns in her hand a handsome young stable boy, Cydric’s height though not as stocky trotted out. He was dressed in what was almost but not quite livery and had a strange odor about him, like cloves or cinnamon. He measured them with his eyes for a moment.

“ Are you here for the private event?” he asked gruffly. Camilla reached into her pocket and withdrew the sealed invitation passing it across the stablehand. He nodded and whistled and moment later a second groom appeared and led away their horses. The first performed a slight bow and led them into the tavern.

If Camilla expected scenes of orgiastic excess she was dissapointed. The clintele was clearly wealthy and they ate fine food at clean tables. In the corner a man played on a lute singing softly for the amusement of the guests. No one paid them any mind as the stable hand led them through the tables to an ornate staircase at the back of the tavern. More racous entertainment could be heard from above but it was muffled by some sort of sound proofing, perhaps straw or linen stuffed in the walls.

“Do you have masks patrons?” the stable hand asked. Camilla thought his voice sounded muffled like he had too much in his mouth to speak properly but she dutifully produced a masquerade mask and affixed it to her face. Cydric did the same, though she could sense his unease. The stablehand smiled and seemed to sigh before taking a large metal key from his pocket and unlocking the lock which sealed the door at the top of the stairs.

“Then let me be the first to welcome you to the Society, I hope you will find it is everything you have heard.” Somehow, the voice seemed to mock them.[@POOHEAD189]