The Barony of Darkmoor

You gathered before sunrise two days ago, just east of Elder Pool, where the High Way turns finally east. Horses and carriages had been sent by the Court. Each of you presented the wax-sealed summons that was your passport to Mainesbury and the “celebration.”

Lord Grey approaches you, an embarrassed smile on his face as he stretches out his hand. “I’m sorry,” he says. To you, the Baron of Darkmoor apologizes in his fine voice. “I did not catch your name.”