It's late afternoon in early December. The sky is grey, with the biting promise of snow in the near future. A light fog obscures the surface of the lake, and reaches questing tendrils across the ground.
Two wagons, each drawn by a single horse approach the manor house. In the lead is a covered wagon, while the other looks to carry luggage, covered by a canvas secured to the sides. The wagons draw to a halt.
"Ξένια, πιστεύω ότι έχουμε έφτασε," the lead driver says over his shoulder. A dark-haired woman with an olive complexion pokes her head out of the wagon and looks at the manor house.
"Θα μπορούσε να είναι. Αυτό δεν την εμφάνιση που Σκέφτηκα πως θα ήταν," she replies*. "Σοφία, ξύπνα τον πατέρα σου."
A moment later, a remarkably large man with wavy brown hair and a broad grin beaming through a bushy beard, wearing a long tunic and leather boots steps out of the rear of the wagon and approaches the manor house.
[color=blue]"Hello!" he calls out in Latin, with a thick Greek accent. [color=blue]"I am Ankoydes the Bjornaer, I am to be joining your...oppidum." He seems to trip over the last word, as though it were still unfamiliar to him.
*The Greek conversation is simply run through Google Translate. I've checked, and it pretty much doubles back the way it's supposed to, for the most part, if anyone's curious.