Black-clad figures draw cloaks about themselves as they hurry across the courtyard to the great hall. Cold winds blow around the chapter precincts, chilled still by the icy remnants of the winter season’s hold on Casinea. The dull tolling of an iron bell draws the Golden-Handed to the Exarch, brooding and pale at the head of the table:
“Brothers and sisters. We have seen the Empire go through great changes in the past year and distressingly few of them have been for the better. This must be addressed and we shall apply ourselves to the betterment of our fellows and to fixing that which is broken. I have drawn inspiration from the recent symposium and it is my will that we shall hold a conference of sorts.
We rarely have the time at Anvil to discuss, even amongst ourselves, those matters which are of most concern to us. Let us, instead, gather in the autumn and make time for these things. Let us invite our friends and our families. Let us go further and invite guests from across the nation and the Empire.
We have much to offer: our probationer system is of proven benefit; our insights into eternals, realms and lineage are invaluable. We can serve and we can guide. And we can learn.
Go and consider what you can bring to this conference.” He continues with a note of sarcasm: “I look forwards to a relaxing, social event – it is incredibly unlikely that anything else will happen between now and then.
And somebody make up a rota for the preparation of the guest quarters. I expect that we will have more visitors than we are used to.”