Fires blaze in the great hall. The tables heave with guests. Every soul with a drop of noble blood in the whole of the Marquisate is here, as well as those commoners who are acknowledged to be indispensable, every lord and priest whose lands lie within riding distance of your borders, and the Divine's vast, gossiping, ravenous entourage. The servants can barely squeeze between them to fill goblets.
The final guests arrive. The doors close. The noise sinks from a roar to a clamor.
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