The group has spent the last thirty minutes making vain attempts to look presentable but the dust and grime from travel and battle tenaciously clings to their clothes and hair. They are waiting with some trepidation in Lord Wyndhill’s sitting room in tense silence. The walls are adorned with ornately framed portraits of ruddy noble men and women, presumably related to Kel. A large fireplace occupies the far wall, though with the warmth of the day, no fire is lit. The décor of the large room is tasteful but sparse, giving the impression that the lord places a great deal more emphasis on function than style.
“Where’s that milksop nephew of mine?” booms a thunderous voice from somewhere deep inside the manor. Seconds later, a large, burly man in a long purple cloak bursts into the room and embraces Kel in a giant bear hug.
“Kel, my boy, good to see you! Did they make you a sissy at that church?”
Lord Wyndhill is an imposing figure, his towering height matched only by his impressive girth. He has a neatly trimmed, bristly beard and close-cropped hair of the same salt and pepper gray. His very commanding presence demands respect and he gives the impression of one who is used to others doing his bidding.
Kel politely replies that he studied fighting as well as clerical works, which seems to appease Duncan considerably; he claps Kel on the back violently,
“Good to hear, boy. A good sword and a strong arm can get you far. Not to be rude or anything but why the hell are you here?”
Kel informs his uncle that he and the others fear Gobrey is in danger. Duncan is not surprised to learn this and asks everyone back into his conference room where they can talk privately. He strides away purposefully and the group hurries to catch up.
The room is dark, with rich mahogany furniture. The drapes are lush, velvet hunter green and the air is thick with the sweet scent of pipe weed. After brief introductions, Duncan gestures to the group to sit. Borin sits in the large wing back chair in the center of room that obviously belongs to the Lord, who startles to see someone with the audacity to affront him. After a brief pause, Duncan laughs heartily and acknowledges the dwarf’s pluck then takes another seat nearby.
“What’s this about my son? Run in with a bad crowd, has he? I knew that woman was no good. I could use a drink, anybody else?”
When several party members agree enthusiastically, Duncan bellows to a fidgety, nervous looking servant who startles noticeably
“Cringe, we need ale!”
“Yye..yes sir, right away sir.”
In moments, Cringe returns with tankards and ale in several pitchers. Marja gratefully accepts the first and takes a long draught from the tasty brew. Duncan looks obviously impressed.
They spend some time discussing Gobrey and their own unfortunate incarceration. Duncan frequently interjects with loud comments or advice after the fact. Twice Marja replies with witty comebacks that cause him to guffaw loudly. After the second such event, Duncan rounds on her and says,
“How’d you like to be my wife. I need a wife now and you’re pretty enough.”
)
