Fall 10th, 511 A.V.
Castles did not cater to the luxurious lifestyle. When one lifted their head above the rabble, and truly admired the splendor of the stone mammoth that was Stormhold Castle, 'comfort' was not a word that came to mind. Safe? Yes. Drafty? Yes. Loud, gray, and rough? Yes, yes and yes. Third district was not known for its splendor. The colors did not come from lavish silk rugs or ornate tapestries illuminated by decorated sconces. If you wanted color, you appreciated the scant few who could afford to have dyes in their clothes. Otherwise you best be a fan of brown, white and gray. Here the heat came from the ebbing flow of citizens that sauntered dutifully along the cobblestone walk. The radiant warmth of the congestion on this early Fall morning counter-balanced the brisk winds which snaked their way against the chinks in the castle's armor.
It was in this congestion that the unimpressive Sighard would have been found, an indiscriminate blob of brown fur with his cloak drawn about his body. His radiance and exuberance was drained by the lifeless canter of the crowd and he found that admiring the ground was a far more exhilarating task than contemplating his eventual duties. His eyes swept heavily along the terrace and his neck arched every which way to catch sight of the vendors hoarsely advertising their wares. It was a medley of voices that, for the most part went largely ignored. Most people walking by were off to work stalls or shops themselves and, let's be honest. Aside from the scant few out to buy their necessities, money was not simply available for spending if you were a citizen of the third district.
The march was one Sighard knew well, and for the years he'd been traversing it as a squire en route to work the more menial tasks his job required, rarely did a distraction take him from it. He had no reason to believe this day would be any more special. If anything, the general air of the place seemed more dead than usual and a serious enlivening was in order.
