The time had come. The day was here. And the apprentices, journeymen and women, and masters of the RhyDin Traditional Art Studios were still hard at work, decorating and dressing the Great Hall in preparation for the medieval party they were hosting later that day. No thought would be given to bringing the artwork in until the Hall met with the masters' satisfaction, and that meant more back-breaking work for the seventeen or so young people they had working under them. But it was worth it.
By the end of three hours of frazzling work, the Great Hall was a sight to behold. The trestle tables had been laid out in a grand feast style, with ornate centre pieces along the centre of the the long tables, and violet cushions laid along the benches for those with delicate posteriors. Along the walls stood straight-backed, beautifully carved wooden thrones, also with those violet cushions, free-standing for those who didn't wish to cram in at the tables.
Tapestries displaying such wonders as Agincourt and the flight of dragons hung against the stark stone of the walls; banners with the crests of RhyDin's noble houses and orders of knighthood draped down regally from pikes set into those walls. Swords, shields, jousting poles, suits of armour - they were all there, laid out against a backdrop of medieval splendour to add a touch of authenticity to the look of the place.
At the far end of the Hall, opposite the main doors, was set aside a space in which the artwork could be displayed for the auction. Already Old Mother Willow was settling into her magically enhanced tank of earth and water, apparently approving of the look of the Hall as her fellow auction pieces were brought in and set up for display. Space had also been left for the accapella group, M'sica Bonita, and the catering genius of Cucina Marthae to set themselves up in preparation for the doors to open at half past 8 that night.
Those who chose to attend the sparkling gathering would find themselves greeted by a plethora of pageboys and wenches - all apprentices in disguise - together with the minor nobles of journeyman rank, and the royalty of mastership. For those who wished to bid, this army of artists would be on hand to explain the system; that of enjoying the artwork, of writing down a bid and leaving contact details, and moving away to celebrate with them the success of the festival. So long as the bidder returned frequently to up their bid, there was a more than reasonable chance of winning what they chose. For those who could not attend, phone lines had been set up in one corner of the hall, and notaries hired to keep those bids coming in.
It looked to be a magical evening. Now all they could do was hope people wanted to attend.
By the end of three hours of frazzling work, the Great Hall was a sight to behold. The trestle tables had been laid out in a grand feast style, with ornate centre pieces along the centre of the the long tables, and violet cushions laid along the benches for those with delicate posteriors. Along the walls stood straight-backed, beautifully carved wooden thrones, also with those violet cushions, free-standing for those who didn't wish to cram in at the tables.
Tapestries displaying such wonders as Agincourt and the flight of dragons hung against the stark stone of the walls; banners with the crests of RhyDin's noble houses and orders of knighthood draped down regally from pikes set into those walls. Swords, shields, jousting poles, suits of armour - they were all there, laid out against a backdrop of medieval splendour to add a touch of authenticity to the look of the place.
At the far end of the Hall, opposite the main doors, was set aside a space in which the artwork could be displayed for the auction. Already Old Mother Willow was settling into her magically enhanced tank of earth and water, apparently approving of the look of the Hall as her fellow auction pieces were brought in and set up for display. Space had also been left for the accapella group, M'sica Bonita, and the catering genius of Cucina Marthae to set themselves up in preparation for the doors to open at half past 8 that night.
Those who chose to attend the sparkling gathering would find themselves greeted by a plethora of pageboys and wenches - all apprentices in disguise - together with the minor nobles of journeyman rank, and the royalty of mastership. For those who wished to bid, this army of artists would be on hand to explain the system; that of enjoying the artwork, of writing down a bid and leaving contact details, and moving away to celebrate with them the success of the festival. So long as the bidder returned frequently to up their bid, there was a more than reasonable chance of winning what they chose. For those who could not attend, phone lines had been set up in one corner of the hall, and notaries hired to keep those bids coming in.
It looked to be a magical evening. Now all they could do was hope people wanted to attend.