Sheriff Turin walks along the beach, holding a lantern high, following a grizzled old feline fisherman, Fargot.

"Sure'n the pain in my big toe," the old fisher cat yowls, "I saw a sailin' vessel out there. Gallisian, sure of it." He turns back to look at the Countess and her entourage. "They're comin' for Ivory Sands, I'm tellin' ye."

The Countess considers. "You've undoubtedly amassed a great deal of experience in identifying ships, and their purposes. Apart from it being Gallisian, what else can you say about it, good Fargot?"

Fargot ponders, then says, "I think I saw a ballista on it … but it weren't no heavy fightin' ship, no ma'am, yer highness. Small, fast … or, that is, yer highness, built so it could be fast, but they're not used to the fog, I reckon, yer highness. So I made it back here first." He points out at a dim light off in the distance. "That'd be them, I reckon, yer highness." There are other lights in the fog as well – marking fishing vessels just off the shore, as the locals ply their trade in the early morning hours.

Ophelia peers at the dim light in the fog, adjusting her warm cloak as she thinks this over. "I'd guess it's small enough to be landed along this coast?"

"Most certainly," answers the once-black Khatta, now gray to white with age. "T'weren't anywhere too big for that."

Sheriff Turin, a Cervani buck, says, "I've been hearing of Gallisian activity elsewhere along the coast … but we've heard that for years. They've never bothered us before now."

The Countess steeples her fingers. "One does have to wonder why they'd sit out amongst the fishing fleet, though. It hardly seems prudent behavior for a spy. Should the fog lift, they can't help but be seen."

"And the lantern," notes the sheriff. "I don't know what to make of it. The Gallisians are a highly eccentric lot. Especially those who come here. Chevaliers and Cuirassiers, most of them – fancy names for their ideas of 'knights'. Most of them have been promised lands for their service to the Marquis … and the Marquis ran out of Gallisian soil, so he started marking off some of our land for his warriors to claim as homesteads."

Fargot just shrugs. "Gallisians is stupid," he says, as if that explains it all.

Ophelia blows out, her breath swirling in the fog. "One supposes it best to investigate. They might be honest sailors lost in the fog, after all. Is there a boat we might use?"

"Certainly, Countess," says the sheriff. He gestures to a trawler waiting at the shoreline. "They appear to be coming our way, but I can't say whether they plan to actually touch shore anytime soon."

"Let us go and see, then. My Lord Sheriff, would you pick an appropriate party to accompany us?"

The Cervani bows. "At once, your highness."

The trawler makes its way along, cleaving through the fog, which is slowly dissipating with the slowly rising sun. The silhouette of the Gallisian vessel can be made out easily now, if the lanterns hanging on its deck were not enough.

"There it is," says Fargot, squinting at what everyone else can see clearly enough.

Several able-bodied fishers – armed with harpoons and other "fishing gear" that can still serve as weapons – watch the approaching ship warily.

Ophelia stands near the front of the vessel, peering out through the fog at the other ship. She turns to Fargot. "Is there a standard way to approach an unknown vessel which one believes might be in need of assistance? We don't wish to appear improper in our conduct."

Fargot ponders, "Uhm … I suppose just shout real loud, 'Hoy there! You need some help there, matey?'"

Ophelia snoofs quietly, twin rings of fog blowing from her nostrils. "Oh. Well, would you do that, then?"

Fargot says, "Sure!" He cups his hands to his mouth, and yowls, "HOY THERE, MATEYS! YOU LOST IN THE FOG? YOU NEED ANY HELP THERE?"

"Sacre bleu!" calls out a canine voice. "Pardon, but is thees Northeern Shore?" Yes, it's definitely a Gallisian accent.

Ophelia nods to the Khatta to answer the question.

"YEP!" yowls the old cat. "THIS IS NORTHERN SHORE!"

"Ah!" responds the canine. "We shall set ashore, then. We are here to see the castle!"

The cat turns to look at Ophelia. "The castle? I didn't think yer highness was giving tours?"

Ophelia tries not to look flustered. "I'd not known it myself. Tell them to follow us, and we shall guide them to a safe landing place."

The cat nods, then yowls, "FOLLOW US! WE'LL SHOW YOU TO A SAFE LANDING AT THE BEACH!"

"Ah!" replies the canine voice. "Monsieur, you are too kind!"

The trawler lands ashore, and so does the small Gallisian vessel, looking even smaller when it is right next to the hardy fishing vessel. A couple of Gallee poodles disembark, dressed in frills and lace and positively smelling of powders and perfumes, accompanied by a small entourage of attendants who have no obvious purpose other than to be at the two poodles' beck and call.

Ophelia alights from her vessel, helped by the sheriff. She barely waits for her own entourage to muster before setting off across the beach toward the poodles. "I am the Countess Ophelia, of the Northern Shore. Whom have I the honor of welcoming to my village of Ivory Sands?"

"Ah! Mademoiselle!" the first poodle says, bowing low, his powdered wig excessively curly and long. "I am Lacet, steward of General Saindoux. And this is his Chief Decorator, Master Peuprofond!

The second poodle, even more lacy than the first, just giggles and waves his fingers at the unicorn.

Master Peuprofond holds his nose. "Oh … all this … this … this fishysmelly EWWWW! Oh, the stench! This will have to go!"

The Countess smiles and waves back. "And you say you've come to see the castle? The smell rather goes with fishing, I'm afraid."

Lacet claps his hands together. "Well! Let us see the castle, shall we? Mustn't waste too much time, or the General may wonder where we vanished off to!"

Peuprofond claps his hands several times, looking positively giddy. "Oh, the General will be so surprised!"

Ophelia tilts her head, looking disappointed. "The General won't be coming to visit in person, then?"

"Oh, yes," Lacet says, nodding several times. "Well, you see, we were just sent to assist him – This is our first mission outside of Gallis, you see – and we thought he would be so happy if we'd see about making a little surprise for him by making sure everything is all nice and tidy for his arrival!"

Peuprofond starts walking toward the village. "I think the castle must be this way," he says giddily.

Ophelia hurries after Master Peuprofond. "Do wait, please! I'm afraid we can't see the castle just yet… " The unicorn tries to herd the two poodles back to the beach. "My Lord Sheriff, could you find a suitable lodging for our guests while the castle is made ready?" She turns back to the poodles. "One does wish to do these things the proper way… "

The Cervani smiles. "Oh, of course, Countess." He turns to the two poodles. "Please pardon our quaint traditions, good sirs, but you are our honored guests. We take hospitality very seriously. And I assure you, we'll make sure that everything is made ready so your time is not wasted."

"Oh!" says Lacet, smiling widely, tail wagging. "You are far more polite than I expected! Here we'd heard you were all blood-sucking savages!"

"Oh, yes, yes, far better than we'd heard," Peuprofond agrees, clapping his hands again. "Oh, please make it quick! I can hardly wait to see the castle! I so hope that the drapes I picked out will be of a suitable color… "

A short while later, as the poodles and their entourage have been shown Sylvanian hospitality, the sheriff returns to the Countess. "They should be occupied for some time, your highness."

The unicorn shakes her head. "One assumes they don't represent Gallis' Best and Brightest. What's to be done, do you suppose?"

The sheriff says, "Well … I suppose, try to feed them as much false information as we can … then prepare for our 'guest' to arrive?"

Ophelia says, "One wonders if it might be possible to entirely dissuade the general from visiting? Have you ever heard of the fellow? I can't believe he's much of a general with retainers like that."

The sheriff says, "I believe this is the same General Saindoux who attempted to conquer Tempest County some four years ago or so. That would be the domain of Count Vlad, the human that some keep rumoring to be a vampire."

"If you recall," says the sheriff, "that was the battle in which Count Feli 'Jynx' Kurai arrived with a band of warriors – and a bard to sing his praises – and proceeded to trash the entire force, after sneaking into their ranks disguised in stolen armor, and stealing into an ammunition tent, where they had a large supply of eeps."

Ophelia quirks an eyebrow. "One wonders that he'd be trusted with another campaign after such an embarrassment."

The sheriff says, "It would appear that he is related to the Marquis of Fauxpas. Family ties are stronger than … better judgement, it seems."

The Countess rolls the hem of her cloak between her fingers, thinking. "Still, I'll warrant it galls him. Generals don't relish that sort of thing. And I'm sure the story's on the minds of his soldiers… " She thinks a bit more. "Is he a superstitious sort? Do you know?"

The sheriff shrugs. "He apparently bought the story that Count Vlad is a vampire. Count Kurai is well known as a vampire-slayer, and apparently he's on good terms with Tempest County, so I wouldn't put much weight in that rumor. You know how those get thrown about. As for Saindoux … not only is he superstitious, but he is incredibly vain. He rides two horses, for one is not enough to hold his girth. He also has an assistant – a young 'pretty' poodle – ride next to him, and he has a mirror-bearer so that he can examine his own reflection. The mirror bearer carefully makes it so that he sees the reflection of his 'double' instead."

Ophelia snoofs!, and an evil smile spreads across her muzzle. "Indeed? My Lord Sheriff, you know the people of the county – Who is the ugliest mare in the land? I'd like an equine who's bright, but cheerfully ugly. Do you know of one such?"

The sheriff ponders. "Ah … well … your pardon, your highness, but I'm sure I can find such a lass. Not that I'd like to tell her just why she's being chosen for such an honor… "

The unicorn says "She'll have to be told, I fear. That's why I specified 'cheerfully ugly'. I mean to have her impersonate me, you see. I strongly doubt someone such as this General Saindoux would enjoy conquering a county which comes with a curse, especially if that curse involved spending half one's time ugly." She pauses a bit. "You could get an old stallion, I suppose, if the mare won't play along. I can't imagine Saindoux being overly thrilled at the thought that he'd turn into an old woman every midnight." The 'corn begins to snicker.