[h1]Nouveillie Machauex [/h1]
[h2]Claimoinx[/h2]
[h3]Chateau d'Bagouyne[/h3]

	The visitor came early in the morning. Just as the sun was barely over the horizon. The sky lit in the soft vermilion and citrus hues of early morning. He came bearing the call to parlement, an arrow wrapped in purple cloth. It was taken to the chambers of the lord of the house, Baron Clairon Monte d'Bagouyne who was awoken by his servants and presented with the sign. He stirred in his morning chambers, and knew.

	The messenger, having done his duty left accordingly walking out back to the house of the parlement. The Baron was in no such hurry, knowing it would take some time for all the houses of the realm to be summoned for this emergency meeting and shunted the arrow into a quiver, folded up the cloth, and being awake stepped out for breakfast.

	“It is early for summons, is it not?” the baron's wife, lady Marissa Guirrard d'Bagouyne asked. The early light of morning barely enough to light through the windows. Servants walked ahead carrying tin lanterns to light the way through the dim hallway. Their light casting faint and soft against her weathered pear-shaped face. Her graying eyes shining like silver in the amber glow of the light. She walked with an unsteady gait, one hand held out to deflty hold onto the sleeve of her husband as she passively felt at the ground with a cane. She was aging and going blind, cataracts taking away her vision until the world was clear only through a dim fog. She observed the world in hazy shapes, no detail and at such a early hour in the morning she would not be able to make her way through the house.

	“I suppose it is.” the baron replied, clutching a cloak to himself. It was cold in the morning and the dew of night had yet to lift from the window panes. In the rising light of morning and the glow of the lantern the droplets on the plants outside the window shone like jewels, and the frost around the edge of the rippling glass panes glowed in the passing light. “But, I suppose the rumors from the ministry is true.”

	“The gate has re-opened?” his wife asked.

	“It may have. The investigation must be complete.”

	The baron, Clairon Bagouyne was a man of large stature, but aging fast. Though still impressive, his former handsomeness was endowed with the lines of advancing age and his skin was fading to the spotted gray of late life. His red hair and beard was quickly graying, turning to a sort of dull unpolished bronze and then slate. His brown eyes though, still bright, shone with a wary intelligence honed by decades of intrigue across the five baronies of the city Claimoinx. His hands were still hard and large, trained by a life time of dueling; but he rose one to gently hold the elbow of his wife. An  injury to a leg made his gait unsteady, and he not so much as walked unencumbered down the hall but rumbled troll like down the hall.

	“So, we might perhaps... Go home?” Marissa said, but he words were hesitant, uncertain. What was home, if not the chateau?

	Clairon had no answer to this, and they walked silently on. Leaving behind the windowed hall way into interior chambers illuminated by torch and fire places, warming slowly for the day ahead. A large number of servants stood about, some cleaning and preparing the room for whatever lay ahead that day.

	The chateau was an old building. The family Bagouyne had built it originally during the dark early days when the Macharoix raided out off the island to the mainland, coming to settle and contend the river lowlands with over half a dozen other rival adventurers. Tracing their line back to marriage with the heirs of the legendary Dagdoux they were one of the oldest and most prestigious families. High commanders of the sea, but now stately farmers and city masters, major landlord and minor trader of wines. The old wooden fort that had staked the early claim long burned and torn down, replaced successively in the waves of war and peace until the current era. The impressive granite bricks that built the towering walls and columns paneled over now in oak panels, painted and decorated. But high up along the ceilings the old stone work lay bare and tarnished over in an enameling of smoke and ash from the fire places, the torches, and the lanterns, the tobacco smoke of the minor gentry that lived here at this court and the parties and centuries of court intrigue. When the golden chandeliers were lit though, the delicate craftsmanship of the high columns and vaulted ceilings could shine through the ages in delicate ways, the roping carved stone made of three colors, the floral decorations, and the miniatures of man and horse and griffon and so on. It bore no gold ornamentation as dressed the estates of newer houses, built on the trade of distant seas and their raiding. It won its prestige and wonder at its own age and the blood soaked into the walls.

	In the dining hall a single large table was prepared and dressed. The chairs removed from the table top and set on the floor. The baron and his wife occupied all of one side. They were offered last night's bread with olive oil to tide them over as they waited for the cook and his staff to bring the kitchen to life for breakfast. The tall windows here let in plentiful light, and looked down from the hill the chateau occupied over the fields and vineyards of its grounds, and the wide city beyond. So early in the morning, and there was nothing that had been done, the staff worked nonstop to lower the benches back onto the ground from the banquet table tops. To bring in linens and lay them over the tables. Bring out the candles and light them. To light the four fire places and produce more fire wood from storage. From beyond the portal to the kitchen the sounds of the pots and pans being laid out, the knives taken down, and the ovens being fired out echoed as the couple sat in cool silence, deep in their own independent thoughts of the new era rising over the realm. The mysteries were too deep for them. The unknown beyond too much to comprehend. This was the domain of religion and ceremony. The living quality of the ancient portal grounds had become mystery, as ephemeral as the Three Fold Goddess, the chariot of Macha and Eponeux.

	The sounds of the kitchen seemed to settle, things were in order. From the portal a white unicorn dressed in a white coat and hat came trotting out and lowered his head to the two waiting nobles. “Good morning your honors, would you like eggs this morning? I can have them poached in ten minutes and with tea.” he looked tired, as if himself just woken up moments ago after a short respite.

	“Could we have bacon?” the baron asked.

	“I'll have it carved off.” the chef remarked, “Would either of the honors require any further produce?”

	“If you have fresh lemons still, I would like a sliced lemon.” Marissa said in a quiet tone of voice. The chef bowed, and left, sweeping his tail as he went.