"TIDINGS FROM THE TEMPLE! Tidings from the Temple!"
A rush of air followed as a loud voice went booming in the streets of the city. It was the noisome rumbles of a Grace Herald announcing the given day of the Royal Ball.
"A day and one night left, and more celebrations are set to ascend the air. The Royal Ball is to convene on the last moon day of the Season's End!"
The bald Grace walked the cobbled paths of the area, hard gray stones flagging the movement of his timid sandals. The man seemed not to care less for the many eyes keen on his modest outfit.
As a Grace, the mendicant order were not notable for being the finest dressers. Neither were they men to care about popularity or esteem amongst a crowd. They were Faithful; that meant everything they did—inherently and otherwise—was in dedication to the Seventh Flame.
