[right][h3][b][i][color=B100de]Master Plum[/color][/i][/b][/h3][color=B100de]≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎[/color]
[color=B100de][i][b]Location: [/b][/i][/color]Shadowell Manor: Front of Manor Outside -> Grand Vestibule (F4)  
[color=B100de][i][b]Skills:[/b][/i][/color] Perception
[color=B100de][i][b]Hit Points:[/b][/i][/color]  6
[color=B100de]≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎[/color][/right]

[i]
And thus they bade me enter
The foremost circle that surrounds the abyss.
There, as it seemed to me from listening,
Were lamentations none, but only lies,
That tremble made the everlasting air.
And this arose from sorrow without torment...
[/i]

From the cold into the colder. Though the first frost of mid-winter fell at last as the fruit of the snowy season, it was the Ambesire who held the harvest. Like lambs to the slaughter to either freeze outside or gamble inside. Into the grand vestibule as the dogs barked at the heels, perhaps they too would find a meal left behind in the forest. Or perhaps they would find sport in chasing after the man who departed early. The guns and guards were not for the protection of the Ambesire Lords or Ladies who had yet to greet them, he mused. Yet still, he was led inside, into this palace of painted peril, taking note of the doors which opened and those which remained closed. A skittishness almost eager to escape reflected by the beady-eye'd search of his friend. The man looked right, the raven looked right, the man looked left, the raven looked left. Strolling into place as the arching architecture and crimson colour schemes were noted, and of course the chairs with a wary eye above them perhaps if those exploded up into the high silvered ceiling or nay dropped down into a bottomless chasm. Perhaps it would be best to remain standing for now, lest the lords of the house take offense at sitting guests. And surely the luster of those pearls gleaned a glimmer of greed.

Pilfer, pilfer, pilfer. What would they so rich miss among the many? Hidden in the vast wealth, a single Sera would not be so much would it? Was there a shrewd accountant, waiting to tally around the corner? Such lucre he had not seen, not at levels as grandiose as this. But did he not claim a locket now his? Did the fortune of the Ambesire amass itself in a similar way? Looting from the corpses of the dead? The Thoughts raced in his mind, stepping closest to the doors, if the rest come enter, let him be the first to slip and leave. Unless those dogs, found him less enchanting than his bird. There was an odor to be observed in the air though, as his breaths heightened in worry of the numerous possibilities. A hint of spice, perhaps from the cloth? Or from the flames? Or from the mind which wandered too far? A sweetness of herbal liquor with a kiss of soft wood. Was it the smoke which wafted and was inhaled? Meant to calm and disarm, a system of soothing no less? A scent or tactic that he would take heed.