<div class="spoiler_container"><div class="spoiler_header" onclick="hideSecond (this);" role="button">scrubbed due to player ghosting</div><div class="spoiler_body"><strong>Haven<br/>Caer Dorcha</strong><br/><br/>One advantage of being a new House is the lack of traditional and forbidding architecture to call home. There is less a sense of tradition bound up in ancient stones and mortar, as the seat of the House is wherever the Head proclaims it shall be. Caer Dorcha, a somewhat fanciful designation for a recently upgraded and modern compound that seems more of a summer home for a well-to-do merchant than the center of a Noble House, allows for some liberties in design. It does not look like a fortress. It certainly does not look like a training school for assassins...much as it's head strikes many upon first meeting as a schoolmaster raised far above his station by circumstance.<br/><br/>Gillam Dorcha stands gazing out the long window that encompasses the entire wall of this chamber when you arrive in response to his summons. His saturnine features are set in a thoughtful manner with a hint of sorrow as his eyes linger on the white sandy beaches and the pounding surf. At his accustomed place at the table, his consort waits for you with her hands folded placidly on the dark polished wood. Like her husband, twice her age, she schools her face into an impassive mask.<br/><br/>This is unusual, to say the least. What is more unusual, your lord does not turn from his contemplations to address you: when the last of you has taken a seat and the guards have sealed the door, it is the Marquise Consort who speaks.<br/><br/><strong>"Our liege requests that we undertake a matter of importance on their behalf,"</strong> she says, her tone cool and crisp, her words precise. <strong>"As a matter of fealty this commission has been accepted. The means have been left to our discretion so long as the target does not depart Haven."</strong><br/><br/>With that, she presses a control, bringing the display embedded in the table to life, showing a middle aged and portly fellow trying a little too hard to seem as though he is still the dashing and handsome man he might have been thirty years earlier. His image was caught at a particularly unflattering moment, leaving him in the middle of a smarmy grin that inspires thoughts of blunt force to the jaw.<br/><br/><strong>"The target is a spice trader by the name of Paeter Gull. He is modestly successful but not impressively so. He arrived on Haven a week ago as part of an delegation from House Richese."</strong> One delicate finger taps on the wood. <strong>"The former custodians of the planet Arrakis,"</strong> she adds as if distracted by the thought.<br/><br/>With that, she gives a short, sharp nod, signaling that the discussion is now an open one.</div></div><br/>