Like most things in the City of the White Wolf, the Grand Ball was tied to the Cult of Ulric. Apparently it celebrated Taal, the God of Forests and growth, turning over dominion to Ulric who among his other titles, was the god of Winter. There was, it was said, a meeting in the forests between a great stag and a mighty wolf that symbolized the whole celestial dance and everyone and their brother claimed to have witnessed it, or knew someone who had. Emmaline knew this deep theological lore not because she was either learned or interested in the Cult of Ulric, but because every bearded northman assumed she knew nothing about it and just couldn't wait to correct her ignorance.

"I saw the Wolf once when I was a lad," a jowly man who was some kind of a court functionary told her in a conspiratorial tone.

"Oh oui monsieur?" Emmaline replied with false enthusiasm.

"Yes quite right, I was deep in the forest on a hunting trip when I saw a great stag on a rise, naturally I crept towards it and then this great wolf stalked from the undergrowth not twenty feet away!"

Emmaline repressed a sigh with professional determination. Either this wolf really got around, or the countryside was teaming with an unmanageable number of the brutes. More likely the sightings had more to do with drunken braggadocio then lupine demographics however. 

Whatever it's tenuous theological underpinnings, the ball was the social event of the season. The Great Hall was a magnificent sight. Its floor was polished stone, colder and more austere than the wooden floors that were the rage in Altdorf, but the chill was made up for by hundreds of banners which hung along its wall in shimmering silk. Supposedly every house that owed fealty to the Elector was represented in the display, and they ranged from ancient lineages to jumped up merchants who had purchased their titles in the last generation or so. Colorful glass lanterns were hung from strings tied high around the mighty pillars that supported the vaulted ceiling, glimmering down like varicolored stars. The pillars themselves had been wrapped with interwoven vines, half lush and green, half dead and withered, their symbolism obvious.  Little copper emblems of stags were hung from the branches alongside small tin wolf heads. Upon arrival Eleanor had been gifted with a small golden hart pin, a symbol Rhya and apparently an indicator that she was unmarried. Other women wore similar charms, although the quality varied. The slight flicker of Charmon, the Golden Wind of Magic, betrayed which charms were real gold vs polished brass or copper to Emmaline's eyes. As always it was difficult not to stare, but there was enough jewelry around to mask her fascination.

The Great and Good of the city were in attendance. The phrase 'anybody who is anybody is at the Grand Ball' was repeated with almost the same monotonous regularity as the wolf and stag story, if that were possible. Ladies of all ages pranced in their fine silks, or handsomely embroidered linens, showing themselves off for all to see. Middenheim apparently lacked a formal debutant system, and the Grand Ball served the same function. Emmaline privately wondered if linking marriage with the inevitable decline into winter and death was a good idea, but it was easy to keep such speculation from her lips. The men were no less preening than the women, though they went out of their way to be a little less ostentatious about it. Cloaks of wolf skin were much in fashion, although only Knights of the White Wolf were permitted to wear the badge of their order. Half the men seemed to be dressed in military uniforms of some kind though Emmaline knew for a fact that half of them were merchants who had never been within leagues of a battle. The other half seemed to be wearing the same styles of doublet and hose which had been the fashion in Altdorf two or three years ago. The appearance of bearded northern rustics in such garment was vaguely ridiculous.

"Enjoying the ball?"  Oderik asked, appearing at her side with two glasses of wine. He passed on to her and she sipped at it before smiling and letting out a little gasp.

"From Bourdeax?" she asked in delight. Oderik beamed apparently pleased that she had recognized the vintage. He would be less pleased if he knew that Emmaline couldn't tell a good wine from vinegar and that the source of her knowledge was a servant whom she had slipped a few Gelt to keep her informed as to what 'Dear Oderik' was up to under the cover of pretended jealousy.

"You like it?" he asked, smiling from ear to ear as she nodded enthuastically.

"Oui, a taste of home," she continued. 

"Not to worry mademoiselle, by the spring your father shall be rescued and you will be free to return to him, though perhaps..."

Oderik was cut off by a small commotion near one of the doors. A young man was striding into the hall, the obvious displeasure of one of the older nobles who had tried to block his path. He seemed familiar and Emmaline narrowed her eyess.

"Is zat ze garcon who keeled that man earlieeer?" Emmaline asked, working her Brettonian accent for all it was worth.

"What? OH... yes Kasimir, one of the court bastards," Oderik responded, his face had a measuring almost respectful look to it.

"Not in the best odor after that little performance," the Knight continued sipping at his wine as he watched Kasimir.

"Heilwig was an ass, but a well connected one, it will cause problems for young Kasimir by the White Wolf," Oderik continued.