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The heavy sound of military boots echoed the man's arrival from the hallway far before he actually entered the room. Years of training and learning to march had instilled a certain level of discipline. The movements were steady and confident, to the point where only the most observant could note the slight error to his gait from the nagging injury.

His attire showed a black military officer uniform, though it was devoid of any ranking insignia at the time. Cleaned and pressed, like any good solider should be we presenting themselves, even more so when it came with a noble barring to impress upon it. A black leather military trench coat completed the officer regimentals. The duster coat serving to hide partly the components pouch that hung on one hip, and the the decorative pommel of the officer's sword peeking itself ever so slightly into view from underneath on the other side.

His face barely into his early twenties etched with a level of maturity and discipline beyond his age. A few more recent minor lacerations and bruises however indicated a recent fight of some nature that could not be hidden by uniform and other clothing. His hair was short and neatly cut black, though his face showed a few days growth of having not shaved. His eyes were a emerald green, though something about them seemed to indicated something more wild underneath.

Following him was a woman, of roughly equal age. Her footsteps in comparison would almost make you question if she was actually there. Light and nimble, seeming to indicate a certain degree of covertness. It as well showed an implication of injury, be it far greater than the man ahead of her. The lady's attire was less militaristic, through still showed a level of function. More akin to traveler's clothes, the quality of the garments certainly implicated the noble background. Though the black pants with multiple belts and pouches and leather top seemed more that she might attempt to climb into a secondary story window to rob the place than be presented as a noble. Her long black hair flowed down to about the mid of her back. Violet hued eyes seemed to swim with a certain arcane energy. She also had several smaller cuts on her hands that were visible and a few across her face. A scarf that seemed completely out of place was wrapped around her neck and throat.

The man moved forward first and presented his hand toward Varon. As the man spoke his accent was thick from the Highlands.

Varon is it? Aye? You will forgive tha' lack o' proper announcement for me'self or my fiancé. Things....

There was a bit of hesitation in his voice on how to approach the topic.

Things have been a wee bit hectic as o' late. Given tha' lack o' staffing I would guess I am doing me' own introductions. So you'll forgive me a bit.

He chuckled lightly in a mild attempt at levity. Mostly for himself, as the others werent likely aware of recent events. He stood back up tall, a light twitch as the pain shot through his lower half, but he soldiered on.

I am Doallyn McClare, of House McClare, Son of the Grand General Reginald McClare of his Majesties' Royal Army, Grandson to Archmage Myrddin McClare, former seat on the King's Small Council, as Master of the Arcane.

He turned and offered a hand to the woman, who stepped forward, taking it. She attempted to smile, though it was obvious she was uncomfortable. Not from the concept of introductions, but from the pure concept of being up and mobile. Doallyn was masking his pain and injuries far better than she. Doallyn kissed her hand trying to offer her some degree of emotional support.

This vision of beauty is my betrothed. Racanna Enhasa, of House Enhasa. Daughter to Johnathan Enhasa, Master of Whispers to the King's Small Council.

She attempted to speak, but quickly put her hands to her throat and shook her head that it wouldn't be happening. He looked over the group of them with a look of apology, before helping Racanna over to a empty seat to sit. He then turned his attention back over them as a whole.

I see that they were already able to provide ye' with some refreshments. The lady o' the house may still be a bit, given recent activities. What can the two of us look to assist ye' with in tha' meantime?

The heavy sound of military boots echoed the man's arrival from the hallway far before he actually entered the room. Years of training and learning to march had instilled a certain level of discipline. The movements were steady and confident, to the point where only the most observant could note the slight error to his gait from the nagging injury.

His attire showed a black military officer uniform, though it was devoid of any ranking insignia at the time. Cleaned and pressed, like any good solider should be we presenting themselves, even more so when it came with a noble barring to impress upon it. A black leather military trench coat completed the officer regimentals. The duster coat serving to hide partly the components pouch that hung on one hip, and the the decorative pommel of the officer's sword peeking itself ever so slightly into view from underneath on the other side.

His face barely into his early twenties etched with a level of maturity and discipline beyond his age. A few more recent minor lacerations and bruises however indicated a recent fight of some nature that could not be hidden by uniform and other clothing. His hair was short and neatly cut black, though his face showed a few days growth of having not shaved. His eyes were a emerald green, though something about them seemed to indicated something more wild underneath.

Following him was a woman, of roughly equal age. Her footsteps in comparison would almost make you question if she was actually there. Light and nimble, seeming to indicate a certain degree of covertness. It as well showed an implication of injury, be it far greater than the man ahead of her. The lady's attire was less militaristic, through still showed a level of function. More akin to traveler's clothes, the quality of the garments certainly implicated the noble background. Though the black pants with multiple belts and pouches and top seemed more that she might attempt to climb into a secondary story window to rob the place than be presented as a noble. Her long black hair flowed down to about the mid of her back. Violet hued eyes seemed to swim with a certain arcane energy. She also had several smaller cuts on her hands that were visible and a few across her face. A scarf that seemed completely out of place was wrapped around her neck and throat.

The man moved forward first and presented his hand toward Varon. As the man spoke his accent was thick from the Highlands.

Varon is it? Aye? You will forgive tha' lack o' proper announcement for me'self or my fiancé. Things....

There was a bit of hesitation in his voice on how to approach the topic.

Things have been a wee bit hectic as o' late. Given tha' lack o' staffing I would guess I am doing me' own introductions. So you'll forgive me a bit.

He chuckled lightly in a mild attempt at levity. Mostly for himself, as the others werent likely aware of recent events. He stood back up tall, a light twitch as the pain shot through his lower half, but he soldiered on.

I am Doallyn McClare, of House McClare, Son of the Grand General Reginald McClare of his Majesties' Royal Army, Grandson to Archmage Myrddin McClare, former seat on the King's Small Council, as Master of the Arcane.

He turned and offered a hand to the woman, who stepped forward, taking it. She attempted to smile, though it was obvious she was uncomfortable. Not from the concept of introductions, but from the pure concept of being up and mobile. Doallyn was masking his pain and injuries far better than she. Doallyn kissed her hand trying to offer her some degree of emotional support.

This vision of beauty is my betrothed. Racanna Enhasa, of House Enhasa. Daughter to Johnathan Enhasa, Master of Whispers to the King's Small Council.

She attempted to speak, but quickly put her hands to her throat and shook her head that it wouldn't be happening. He looked over the group of them with a look of apology, before helping Racanna over to a empty seat to sit. He then turned his attention back over them as a whole.

I see that they were already able to provide ye' with some refreshments. The lady o' the house may still be a bit, given recent activities. What can the two of us look to assist ye' with in tha' meantime?

The heavy sound of military boots echoed the man's arrival from the hallway far before he actually entered the room. Years of training and learning to march had instilled a certain level of discipline. The movements were steady and confident, to the point where only the most observant could note the slight error to his gait from the nagging injury.

His attire showed a black military officer uniform, though it was devoid of any ranking insignia at the time. Cleaned and pressed, like any good solider should be we presenting themselves, even more so when it came with a noble barring to impress upon it. A black leather military trench coat completed the officer regimentals. The duster coat serving to hide partly the components pouch that hung on one hip, and the the decorative pommel of the officer's sword peeking itself ever so slightly into view from underneath on the other side.

His face barely into his early twenties etched with a level of maturity and discipline beyond his age. A few more recent minor lacerations and bruises however indicated a recent fight of some nature that could not be hidden by uniform and other clothing. His hair was short and neatly cut black, though his face showed a few days growth of having not shaved. His eyes were a emerald green, though something about them seemed to indicated something more wild underneath.

Following him was a woman, of roughly equal age. Her footsteps in comparison would almost make you question if she was actually there. Light and nimble, seeming to indicate a certain degree of covertness. It as well showed an implication of injury, be it far greater than the man ahead of her. The lady's attire was less militaristic, through still showed a level of function. More akin to traveler's clothes, the quality of the garments certainly implicated the noble background. Though the black pants with multiple belts and pouches and top seemed more that she might attempt to climb into a secondary story window to rob the place than be presented as a noble. Her long black hair flowed down to about the mid of her back. Violet hued eyes seemed to swim with a certain arcane energy. She also had several smaller cuts on her hands that were visible and a few across her face. A scarf that seemed completely out of place was wrapped around her neck and throat.

The man moved forward first and presented his hand toward Varon. As the man spoke his accent was thick from the Highlands.

Varon is it? Aye? You will forgive tha' lack o' proper announcement for me'self or my fiancé. Things....

There was a bit of hesitation in his voice on how to approach the topic.

Things have been a wee bit hectic as o' late. Given tha' lack o' staffing I would guess I am doing me' own introductions. So you'll forgive me a bit.

He chuckled lightly in a mild attempt at levity. Mostly for himself, as the others werent likely aware of recent events. He stood back up tall, a light twitch as the pain shot through his lower half, but he soldiered on.

I am Doallyn McClare, of House Clare, Son of the Grand General Reginald McClare of his Majesties' Royal Army, Grandson to Archmage Myrddin McClare, former seat on the King's Small Council, as Master of the Arcane.

He turned and offered a hand to the woman, who stepped forward, taking it. She attempted to smile, though it was obvious she was uncomfortable. Not from the concept of introductions, but from the pure concept of being up and mobile. Doallyn was masking his pain and injuries far better than she. Doallyn kissed her hand trying to offer her some degree of emotional support.

This vision of beauty is my betrothed. Racanna Enhasa, of House Enhasa. Daughter to Johnathan Enhasa, Master of Whispers to the King's Small Council.

She attempted to speak, but quickly put her hands to her throat and shook her head that it wouldn't be happening. He looked over the group of them with a look of apology, before helping Racanna over to a empty seat to sit. He then turned his attention back over them as a whole.

I see that they were already able to provide ye' with some refreshments. The lady o' the house may still be a bit, given recent activities. What can the two of us look to assist ye' with in tha' meantime?

The heavy sound of military boots echoed the man's arrival from the hallway far before he actually entered the room. Years of training and learning to march had instilled a certain level of discipline. The movements were steady and confident, to the point where only the most observant could note the slight error to his gait from the nagging injury.

His attire showed a black military officer uniform, though it was devoid of any ranking insignia at the time. Cleaned and pressed, like any good solider should be we presenting themselves, even more so when it came with a noble barring to impress upon it. A black leather military trench coat completed the officer regimentals. The duster coat serving to hide partly the components pouch that hung on one hip, and the the decorative pommel of the officer's sword peeking itself ever so slightly into view from underneath on the other side.

His face barely into his early twenties etched with a level of maturity and discipline beyond his age. A few more recent minor lacerations and bruises however indicated a recent fight of some nature that could not be hidden by uniform and other clothing. His hair was short and neatly cut black, though his face showed a few days growth of having not shaved. His eyes were a emerald green, though something about them seemed to indicated some more wild underneath.

Following him was a woman, of roughly equal age. Her footsteps in comparison would almost make you question if she was actually there. Light and nimble, seeming to indicate a certain degree of covertness. It as well showed an implication of injury, be it far greater than the man ahead of her. The lady's attire was less militaristic, through still showed a level of function. More akin to traveler's clothes, the quality of the garments certainly implicated the noble background. Though the black pants with multiple belts and pouches and top seemed more that she might attempt to climb into a secondary story window to rob the place than be presented as a noble. Her long black hair flowed down to about the mid of her back. Violet hued eyes seemed to swim with a certain arcane energy. She also had several smaller cuts on her hands that were visible and a few across her face. A scarf that seemed completely out of place was wrapped around her neck and throat.

The man moved forward first and presented his hand toward Varon. As the man spoke his accent was thick from the Highlands.

Varon is it? Aye? You will forgive tha' lack o' proper announcement for me'self or my fiancé. Things....

There was a bit of hesitation in his voice on how to approach the topic.

Things have been a wee bit hectic as o' late. Given tha' lack o' staffing I would guess I am doing me' own introductions. So you'll forgive me a bit.

He chuckled lightly in a mild attempt at levity. Mostly for himself, as the others werent likely aware of recent events. He stood back up tall, a light twitch as the pain shot through his lower half, but he soldiered on.

I am Doallyn McClare, of House Clare, Son of the Grand General Reginald McClare of his Majesties' Royal Army, Grandson to Archmage Myrddin McClare, former seat on the King's Small Council, as Master of the Arcane.

He turned and offered a hand to the woman, who stepped forward, taking it. She attempted to smile, though it was obvious she was uncomfortable. Not from the concept of introductions, but from the pure concept of being up and mobile. Doallyn was masking his pain and injuries far better than she. Doallyn kissed her hand trying to offer her some degree of emotional support.

This vision of beauty is my betrothed. Racanna Enhasa, of House Enhasa. Daughter to Johnathan Enhasa, Master of Whispers to the King's Small Council.

She attempted to speak, but quickly put her hands to her throat and shook her head that it wouldn't be happening. He looked over the group of them with a look of apology, before helping Racanna over to a empty seat to sit. He then turned his attention back over them as a whole.

I see that they were already able to provide ye' with some refreshments. The lady o' the house may still be a bit, given recent activities. What can the two of us look to assist ye' with in tha' meantime?

The heavy sound of military boots echoed the man's arrival from the hallway far before he actually entered the room. Years of training and learning to march had instilled a certain level of discipline. The movements were steady and confident, to the point where only the most observant could note the slight error to his gait from the nagging injury.

His attire showed a black military officer uniform, though it was devoid of any ranking insignia at the time. Cleaned and pressed, like any good solider should be we presenting themselves, even more so when it came with a noble barring to impress upon it. A black leather military trench coat completed the officer regimentals. The duster coat serving to hide partly the components pouch that hung on one hip, and the the decorative pommel of the officer's sword peeking itself ever so slightly into view from underneath on the other side.

His face barely into his early twenties etched with a level of maturity and discipline beyond his age. A few more recent minor lacerations and bruises however indicated a recent fight of some nature that could not be hidden by uniform and other clothing. His hair was short and nearly cut black, though his face showed a few days growth of having not shaved. His eyes were a emerald green, though something about them seemed to indicated some more wild underneath.

Following him was a woman, of roughly equal age. Her footsteps in comparison would almost make you question if she was actually there. Light and nimble, seeming to indicate a certain degree of covertness. It as well showed an implication of injury, be it far greater than the man ahead of her. The lady's attire was less militaristic, through still showed a level of function. More akin to traveler's clothes, the quality of the garments certainly implicated the noble background. Though the black pants with multiple belts and pouches and top seemed more that she might attempt to climb into a secondary story window to rob the place than be presented as a noble. Her long black hair flowed down to about the mid of her back. Violet hued eyes seemed to swim with a certain arcane energy. She also had several smaller cuts on her hands that were visible and a few across her face. A scarf that seemed completely out of place was wrapped around her neck and throat.

The man moved forward first and presented his hand toward Varon. As the man spoke his accent was thick from the Highlands.

Varon is it? Aye? You will forgive tha' lack o' proper announcement for me'self or my fiancé. Things....

There was a bit of hesitation in his voice on how to approach the topic.

Things have been a wee bit hectic as o' late. Given tha' lack o' staffing I would guess I am doing me' own introductions. So you'll forgive me a bit.

He chuckled lightly in a mild attempt at levity. Mostly for himself, as the others werent likely aware of recent events. He stood back up tall, a light twitch as the pain shot through his lower half, but he soldiered on.

I am Doallyn McClare, of House Clare, Son of the Grand General Reginald McClare of his Majesties' Royal Army, Grandson to Archmage Myrddin McClare, former seat on the King's Small Council, as Master of the Arcane.

He turned and offered a hand to the woman, who stepped forward, taking it. She attempted to smile, though it was obvious she was uncomfortable. Not from the concept of introductions, but from the pure concept of being up and mobile. Doallyn was masking his pain and injuries far better than she. Doallyn kissed her hand trying to offer her some degree of emotional support.

This vision of beauty is my betrothed. Racanna Enhasa, of House Enhasa. Daughter to Johnathan Enhasa, Master of Whispers to the King's Small Council.

She attempted to speak, but quickly put her hands to her throat and shook her head that it wouldn't be happening. He looked over the group of them with a look of apology, before helping Racanna over to a empty seat to sit. He then turned his attention back over them as a whole.

I see that they were already able to provide ye' with some refreshments. The lady o' the house may still be a bit, given recent activities. What can the two of us look to assist ye' with in tha' meantime?