Located on the outskirts of the Inner City, the Marcada manse was a large, square construction with a large courtyard-like clearing within. Built of plaster-coated stone, the building maintained a light shade of taupe that contrasted with the customary dark stone of the Citadel. A high, angled roof followed the structure around, it's baked plaster tiles shining a dull red in the sun. Three chimneys projected majestically from it's top, one of which can be seen to billow out a thin plume of blueish smoke at virtually all marks of the day, and the grounds surrounding the manse were lush and verdant, a testament to the gardener's careful attention and tireless waterings.
The front side of the manse faced east and featured a pair of amazing, brass doors, each one encasing a large cut-class window that, while too irregular to reveal anything beyond, presented the guest with a fine, elaborate floral image backlit by the warm lighting within. Tall, narrow pillars guarded the door, each topped by a carved arch that, once again, were coated in the same taupe plaster. The narrow, darkened windows were each protected with iron gratings wrought in the shape of creeping vines, though the iron working was designed to be more decorative than defensive.
Two other doors lead into the Marcada house, one near the kitchen and one that remained locked and barred from within. The kitchen entrance, located on the north side of the building, was often open, and it was from here that most of the Estate's residence...including Lord Marcada and his wife Rosalie Marcada...gained entry.
Rosalie sneaked inside the building, not really paying attention to her surroundings. She was here to change clothing and ponder what she had learned. These last few days had been strenuous.
Before she slipped into her bedroom however, ready to change into her next outfit, she decided on a whim to visit her husband. He was so cut out from information as far as she was concerned that she almost worried keeping him out of the loop too much. He didn't deserve that.
"Illish," she called as she entered his bedroom, expecting him to be there, still reduced an invalid, radiating sweet innocence that was in truth no longer part of her make up "Illish, guess who I spoke to to these last 24 marks?"