Tonight, the castle has been decorated for a party. Flowered boughs and wreathes hang from sconces, and banners and ribbons stretch between arches and buttresses. The banquet table is set out for the countess' honored guests, arrived all the way from Gallis.

Sheriff Turin, a Cervani constable, is wearing his best uniform, freshly pressed, the sword at his side merely ornamental, of course.

The Countess Ophelia wanders about the room, poking at the decorations as she awaits her guests. She's dressed in a plain yellow gown, with pink roses plaited into her mane. The roses do a bit to mask the background smell of the rotting fish which have been rubbed over strategic places in the hallways and ducts. "Do you think they'll notice the odor, my Lord Sheriff? I've not been over-subtle in the matter of scenting the castle, I hope?"

The Cervani wiggles his nose. "I think they'll notice. I'm sure that they're not accustomed to disagreeable odors. They were rather vocal about it at the shore."

Some loud yappy voices can be heard coming down the hallway, followed shortly thereafter by the two powdered poodles. "Oh! Oh, it looks … special," says Lacet.

Ophelia ushers the poodles into the hall. "You'll not be offended at having a small reception, I do hope? Your coming was such a surprise. There wasn't really time to arrange a proper festivity."

Peuprofond makes a disgusted "Ugh!" as he passes one of the grimacing grotesques holding up a flickering torch sconce. "Oh, this will have to go! Why, to think, the good General might wake up at night, walking about the castle in his cute little Lapi slippers … only to run into this! Oh, the horror!"

Lacet just nods at Ophelia. "Oh, yes, quite fine, quite fine. Hmm." He digs in his lacy shirt, and pulls out a small bottle with a squirt bladder attached, and starts spraying at the air around him … adding to the stench with an overly strong perfume that mixes with the fishy scent to make something even more disagreeable and stomach-turning. His ears blanch at this realization.

Ophelia nods agreement to Peuprofond. "They really are dreary, aren't they? Still, they somehow seem to fit in with the place – it never really seemed worth the trouble to get rid of them. So much effort for such a small return, you know." Her nostrils close up slightly as Lacet squirts his cloud of perfume. "Won't you two have a seat? The servers will be in with the first course shortly, assuming the ovens haven't acted up again. You both know the Sheriff, of course?"

Turin bows to the poodles. Peuprofond gives him a polite smile, while Lacet just waves daintily. "Oh, of course. Yes, let us be seated… " Servants pull out chairs for the poodles, which the poodles take as gracefully as they are wont to do.

A stench of burnt hair reaches the noses of the poodles, as they wrinkle them in disgust. A battered wooden cart is rolled into the room, looking like something meant to haul dirt rather than food, though some garishly "pretty" cloths have been thrown over it in an attempt at decoration. Seated upon the wobbling cart is a charred boar, with a slightly green apple crammed into its ashen jaw.

The cook bows apologetically to Ophelia, whispering loudly, "Mistress! We had some trouble with the oven. I am so sorry!"

The Countess goes "oh dear… " under her breath, then comforts the distressed cook, "You did your best, I know." She sends him on his way with quiet encouragement, then turns to the poodles. "I do hope you'll pardon us. He's a most excellent cook, but the oven is just abominable. It's built into the core of the castle itself, of course, so there's no way to replace it without pulling down half the building. I really should have insisted that we send out for food, but he is such a skilled chef, and so seldom does anyone ever come for dinner… " She trails off, spreading her hands in a gesture of apology.

A servant saws into the charred flesh of the boar, sending bits of carbon cracking. The servant grins hopefully to the poodles. "Just a little tough… " At last, a misshapen chunk is hewn off, and dropped onto a plate with a loud thunk for one poodle … then the other.

The poodles look at their plates with expressions of … disbelief? Peuprofond says, "Oh … well … that will have to go, too!" He sounds a little uncertain of himself, as he looks at his plate.

Lacet smiles primly at his plate, and tries to push the food around his plate with a fork … a practice that probably works better with mashed potatoes or corn, rather than meat that has been cooked to the consistency of … coal? "Well … I … hmm. I don't believe I've had this before."

Ophelia crunches away in a determined fashion. "I'm so glad someone is finally coming to take over. I suppose I'll move to Rephidim." She crunches a bit more…

Peuprofond, upon seeing that Ophelia is actually eating … braces himself and nibbles on what flakes he can break off of his chunk.

The Countess remarks, "It'll be nice to get away from the smell of fish as well." She raises her eyebrows, and makes an approving sound as she takes another bite. "There's a bit of the spices still surviving in some places. Gaston has a most excellent and wide-ranging spicery. I hope the general won't object if I take that along – it's not as though he's likely to get much use of it anyway."

"Oh … oh … of course, certainly," Lacet says, stammering slightly.

Peuprofond looks up at a clock, "Oh my, it's getting late. Oh … I think I'm almost full! But I must save some room to dessert. Do you think it's too early to bring out dessert?"

Ophelia smiles indulgently, and calls upon the servers to bring the dessert. "I hope it's ready. To be honest, I don't know myself what Gaston's planned." She adds, half to herself, "Nothing flaming, I'm sure… "

Next, another cart is rolled out of the kitchen, this one with plates of writhing … eels? … in whipped cream that could pass for sea foam. "Chilled writhers! A local delicacy," says one of the servants, smiling widely.

Peuprofond's eyes roll back up into their sockets as if his pupils are all too eager to get as far away from the "delicacy" as possible … his head lolls … and then he faints, falling forward and knocking his muzzle against the charred boar-meat on his plate.

Lacet squirms a bit, for a moment mimicking the little wormy creatures, and he looks almost envious at Peuprofond's swoon. "Uhm … ah … "

Ophelia acks as the poodle faints. "Oh dear… " She watches with some concern as a servant moves quickly to succor the unconscious canid. "This is all a bit much for him, I expect?"

Lacet titters nervously. "Oh, well, you know … travel and all. It takes so much out of a man!"

Ophelia gestures with the serving spoon. "I suppose it must, yes. One has to spend so much time here running the affairs of the county that there's really very little chance to travel. I'll learn about all that soon enough, I suppose." She smiles approvingly as her servants begin to revive the fainted poodle. "Still, running the county isn't without its rewards," She gestures toward the wrigglers. "The fisherfolk keep one's larder stocked with the local treats, for instance. Little things like that often seem to affect one out of all proportion to their magnitude, don't you agree?" She begins to dish wrigglers onto Lacet's plate herself, as her servants are still busy with Peuprofond.

Lacet's ears flatten back as the wrigglers are heaped onto his plate. "Oh … yes … the county. Oh, I shouldn't spend the whole evening stuffing my face. Do tell me … about … this pleasant little county? What … ah … what do you do here to pass the time?"

Peuprofond sniffles and snorts as smelling salts are placed under his nose. "Wha? Huh?" He has several flakes of charred boar hide on his muzzle. He looks down at the squirming bits on his plate. He shrieks.

Ophelia considers. "I'm told it's a wonderful place for fishing. I always found that a bit tedious, myself. It's a bit cold to grow a proper garden… " Her gaze returns to Peuprofond and his revivers. "You might try giving him a bit of the dessert, you know. I've heard of people becoming deranged from lack of sugar before… "

Peuprofond squirms and writhes in his chair, as a bib is tucked into his frilly shirt, and one of the servants helpfully scoops up a spoonful and brings it closer to the poodle's mouth. He's almost frothing.

Lacet gulps, trying his best to ignore his companion, daubing at his forehead with a handkerchief. "Well! Ahem. Really … Oh … Well … such a quaint place. Uhm … well, maybe you could tell me about some of the local legends, then? You know … local heroes, lost treasures, vanquishing monsters, magic, that sort of fairy tale thing? I understand you Sylvanians are big on that… "

Ophelia clasps her hands. "Oh, my. That is a rich field. I'm not entirely sure where to start, one hears so many stories. And, of course, given the locality, one is never completely sure whether there might not be some truth to the tales, or how much."

Lacet smiles encouragingly, his ears flicking at his companion's muffled screams. "Oh, please do tell! Oh … anything would be fine! Must start somewhere, after all!"

Ophelia glances at the clock. "Yes, of course. I'm afraid you'll have to excuse me for a minute, though." The 'corn gets up and heads for a curtained exit. "Perhaps my Lord Sheriff would like to tell some of the stories of the castle in my absence?" She disappears through the curtains, her tufted tail vanishing last.

Sheriff Turin steps up, bowing to the poodles. "Ah yes. I'd be delighted. Well, first of all, just to the south, there's a haunted forest known as the Whispering Wood. Surely you've heard of it? Well, there are these killer bunnies – like Lapis, only hopping on all fours… "

Meanwhile, Ophelia appears to have escaped the hall. Just outside, a cheerful-looking Rhian girl with huge teeth stands, adorned in a dress that's a copy of Ophelia's outfit. She smiles widely to Ophelia, showing teeth and gums.

The Countess pokes gingerly at the phony, bent horn glued to the Rhian's forehead. "You look perfect, dear. We've spent the evening speaking about the castle. The dinner was a rather overdone roast boar, with wrigglers in whipped cream for dessert, if anyone asks. Mssr. Peuprofond has fainted." She smiles a bit. "Have you any questions?"

The horse giggles. "Why yes, mistress! Do you know if they're single?" She makes an exaggerated wink.

Ophelia giggles. "I'd not be surprised."

The Rhian grins toothily. "Well … I just await my cue to tell them all about this castle and that dastardly curse on it. I wonder what they would think about turning into a beautiful maiden every night at the stroke of midnight?" She guffaws quietly.