The covered wagon slowly makes it way up the slight hill leading to the entrance of the incomplete castle called Lucien's folly by the locals. The driver, an mature man wearing a padded vest, cracks his whip to keep the pair of oxen pulling the wagon moving as the right wheel hits a larger-than-susual pot hole. The shock reverberates through the carriage, raising a cry from inside.
"WHAT IS THIS!!! Maurits, are you trying to kill me AGAIN!"
The driver sighs and grumbles inaudibly, before answering in a loud voice, but not quite a yell. "We're there, master."
"THERE? WHAT DO YOU MEAN, THERE!" The tarp seperating the covered part from the driver's bench is thrown aside and a round head emerges. "WHERE ARE..." The speaker interrupts himself when he catches sight of the approaching gate of Triamore. In a much normal tone of voice, he says, "Oh. OH! We've arrived! At last! Why didn't you tell me, you befuddled eater of half-cooked batracians? Never mind that. Good! EXCELLENT! Now, WHERE are my formal robes..." The head disappears back into the wagon.
A few minutes later, the wagon stops before the gate and the driver tells the guard in accented Waloon, "Master Boniface of Ghent arriving to see the masters of Triamore. I believe he is expected." He looks back at the covered section, then shrugs. "Though I wouldn't be surprised if the fat slug forgot to tell them when he'd be arriving."
The guard laughs before signaling the wagon into the courtyard. Maurits cracks his whip again to coax the oxen in motion again, and soon the wagons is rolling under the gatehouse and into the outer bailey. It finally comes to a jerking stop before the the great hall. There is a loud crash from inside the wagon, followed by cursing. A small smile graces Maurits' taciturn face, but is quickly gone. He dismounts the wagon and makes his way to the back, where he pulls out an empty wooden box from the back of the wagon. A sturdy wooden box.
The tarp in the back is thrown open by a large pudgy hand. "AH! HELP me down, will you?" With some grunting and help from Maurits, the occupant steps down on the box as a step down from the wagon, then looks around at the courtyard.
The man is quite a sight, with burnt orange robes covering his bulk but not succeeding in hiding the expanse of the belly, while greenish-blue pants peek out from under the robes. The bare head is bald, while the well-shaven face wears a happy expression. From a well-shaped mouth comes a loud greeting, "HELLO TRIAMORE!!! IT IS SO VERY GOOD TO BE BACK!!!"