You struggle to control your worries in these rarefied halls. How could the summons augur anything good? [+Melancholy]
The herald stops next to a pair of floor-to-ceiling shutters in the stone wall, flung open to admit the sunlight. With an outstretched hand, she steers you towards the small balcony beyond, where Malodoro and His Grace stand poised.
"Bandochel, of His Grace's Company," the herald drones.
Onward