Emmaline picked up her glass and held it in her palm, the stem hanging between her index and middle fingers. It was very fine glass, catching the firelight from the display in the center of the room and and lighting it with an inner glow.

"Very, they way you have chocked on the smoke was most impressive, how like a mighty dragon you are," Emmaline giggled, before clinking her glass against Neil's and taking a sip. She suspected this was very fine Vodka, though it didn't taste that much different from the firewater she had drunk in any number of Reikside taverns in the last few years. She tried to avoid looking at the Witch Hunter, possessed of a wizards instinctive fear of the ruthless hunters of evil. In theory, Emmaline had the writ of the Emperor to allow her to practice magic and in Altdorf that meant something, away from the capital however... well wizards ran afoul of the Sigmarite Templars all the time, and it was doubtful whether Albrecht's protests would render her any less flammable. She found it much easier to gaze at the finery and jewelry that many of the guests were wearing. A number of the merchants were turned out in particular splendor. Emmaline cast a look back towards the door where a number of hard looking nondescript men lounged. In many cases the merchants wouldn't be able to afford the finery that bedecked them, but jewelry houses would rent the use of pieces in exchange for the exposure of their work and a generous fee. The men, most of whom had the hard faces and easy grace of soldiers, were here to protect the merchandise from thieves, and from the merchants themselves absconding with them. 

"May I take your order my Lord? My lady?" a mustachioed man in a white jacket enquired politely. He was clearly a cut above the rest of the waitstaff, perhaps an owner or a head chef who made a point of meeting the 'high and mighty' personally.