THE MORNING WAS STILL YOUNG, and at the same moment of Marsil's entry into the luxurious façade of High Hall, in a single room a good distance from the Ivory Castle was the captain of the Flameseekers. The Icelandic warriors and their goal were only yards apart but neither seeker nor master knew of each other's plight.
Marsil joined comfort with his friends, making merry amidst flowing cups of ale to reminisces of their past adventures and the many trails they had traveled around the kingdom. To the company of royalty, such a time was one of revelry.
However, in that single room set away from the castle, the captain of the Flameseekers, Sebastien DeMarquis was locked with his own group of three in a rather torrid tumble, more illicit than the doings of the Dracaeny they were supposed to be searching for.
