Riverkeep
The hall is large, as is suitable for its purpose, but not as massive as those in other places, such as Central or Saxum. Still, its large vaulted ceiling and columned walls give it a feeling of grandeur, as do the the colorful tapestries, busts set in alcoves, and stained glass windows. Servants in liveries of all kinds attend to their lords and ladies.
And those lords and ladies matched their surroundings. Dressed in gilded coats and dresses of their house designs, they made quite the colorful sight. Badges and insignias on their breasts or lapels or belts distinguished them, but in a way, it made them all the same. As Bryce Caryotte, the man of the hour, stormed into the hall, a hush fell. How could silence be so loud?
Behind the crowd of nobles is a raised dais with a chair almost resembling a throne. The man standing by it manages to make it clear he owns it without actually sitting in it. Myr Caryonn, high lord of house Caryonn, is a big man. A very big man. Tall and wide and thick with muscles, one might mistake him with a blacksmith. They wouldn't be too far off. His hair is worn in typical Caryonn fashion, long and unhindered. If he wasn't so burly and his eyes not so muddy-looking, he would be handsome.
He notices Bryce immediately and saunters down the steps of the dais and through the passage the nobles gave him before stopping halfway to Bryce.
"Bryce Caryotte," he says at last, in deep, resonating tones, "Wyrm of the North. You honor us with your presence." He makes a slight motion, and a servant in dark livery almost runs to offer Bryce a cup of wine on a tray.
Myr speaks up again, pointing at the wine. "Mountaintart berries, that's made of. It'll wake you up any morning, I'll wager." He flashes a grin, but it seems forced. They're all trying desperately to maintain their dignity despite how scared they are.