The Summer Palace was a much smaller affair than the Royal Palace in Kings Court and did not resemble it in the least. Instead of a fortress it was a building full with glass and light, with big terrace doors opening to the wonderful palace gardens that ended in the d'Avennes at the back, and a nice wide veranda on the front, overlooking the white cliffs that Roque d'Ancourt was so famous for. The building was created out of sandstone, and it had coloured darker at the edges and into the curves, some of the sculptures getting a sinister effect in the dark.
It was a tad larger than a manor house, with two large wings on either side, and yet it could almost pass as the house of a minor noble if it were not for the details on the sculptures, the excessive glass work and the very, very nice location which in itself must be very expensive. There was a large iron gate on a path of gravel that took the travelers up and past the cliffs before approaching the house.
Outside the right wing of the palace stood the Portal. The portal itself is a marvel of engineering, and is one the largest of its kind ever produced by the Nashorn Institute. It is almost broad enough in diameter for a full carriage to pass through. A ramp with a shallow gradient leads up to its rippling surface, and at the top of the ramp stand two guards in their rust colored uniforms. At the bottom, a gaggle of lazy guards and functionaries wait to take the details and the coin of those who come and go, stifling yawns and bored expressions as they wait.
Through this portal came the hideous little man known as Motley. The ugly bard had called Roque d'Ancourt his home for nearly all the yahren of his life, and now he was returning to it once again from far away lands, and once again it was under less than ideal circumstances. The vision he had while on the island of Sierra had frightened and disturbed him, and he was now hurrying home to be certain that everything and everyone was well. He felt guilty and ashamed at leaving Morgan, Becca and the expedition behind, and he swore to himself that once matters were settled, he would write them a long letter of explanation. Right now that was in the back of his thoughts as the safety of his adopted daughter and his friend Alazandra were in the foremost of his mind.
His hair was still wet from the bath he had taken to clean himself up. The tunnels and such that he had been scurrying through had been filled with rotting vegetables and other garbage, and there was little chance he would or could travel covered in it and smelling like he did. Instead of trying to clean his clothes, he purchased new, and threw the others away. His ill fitting shirt hung loosely on him and his leggings were rolled up several times at the bottom so they wouldn't drag. He bought a new pack, abandoning the old one to the stench, and sadly tossed the remains of his broken lute on the community fire in Realt. A new one would also have to wait.
He approached the guards to pay his fee and present his credentials for his return to the city. With a heart full of anticipation and nervous angst, he awaited his turn to gain entrance into the city once more.
