"I am the Champion of the Castle of the Plucked Eye and Heart..." Introduction of Henry Lascelles
The first person to walk through the antechamber that leads to the outside of the Mansion will notice - and be stopped by - a tall, handsome, dark-haired man, dressed in the very height of fashion for Europe in the 19th century, though careful observers may notice that his clothes, though stylish, are rather worn and threadbare, torn in places as though by briars or knives, and not as clean as they ought to be, either. This gentleman is perhaps thirty years old, and carrying a pistol, which he points directly at the heart of whoever should happen upon him.
"I am the Champion of the Castle of the Plucked Eye and Heart," the young man intones in a languid drawl which suggests that he has said these words many times before. "I...wait a moment." He seems to have suddenly realised where he is - or, more to the point, where he isn't, and his eyes gleam, looking more alive than they have in years (or weeks, or centuries; time is whatever one makes of it, in Faerie, and this man has made it nothing at all).
"So, the road has an end after all?" he says, not lowering the pistol. "And where am I, some Faerie land? A kingdom of John Uskglass? I must say," he adds, looking about him, "if this is Faerie, I am much disappointed. I would have supposed it to be far more beautiful and elegant, but this is like any other house in London, only less fashionably furnished. Indeed, it is rather like the house of a gentleman-farmer, who takes a place in town and fancies himself upper-class because of it. And are you," directing this to the one at whom he is still aiming his pistol, "a fairy?"
Typist: Mr Henry Lascelles, of Susanna Clarke's Jonathan Strange and Mr Norrell, last seen shooting at things on a fairy road and having a grand old time at it. My sincerest apologies to, well, everyone.
"I am the Champion of the Castle of the Plucked Eye and Heart," the young man intones in a languid drawl which suggests that he has said these words many times before. "I...wait a moment." He seems to have suddenly realised where he is - or, more to the point, where he isn't, and his eyes gleam, looking more alive than they have in years (or weeks, or centuries; time is whatever one makes of it, in Faerie, and this man has made it nothing at all).
"So, the road has an end after all?" he says, not lowering the pistol. "And where am I, some Faerie land? A kingdom of John Uskglass? I must say," he adds, looking about him, "if this is Faerie, I am much disappointed. I would have supposed it to be far more beautiful and elegant, but this is like any other house in London, only less fashionably furnished. Indeed, it is rather like the house of a gentleman-farmer, who takes a place in town and fancies himself upper-class because of it. And are you," directing this to the one at whom he is still aiming his pistol, "a fairy?"
Typist: Mr Henry Lascelles, of Susanna Clarke's Jonathan Strange and Mr Norrell, last seen shooting at things on a fairy road and having a grand old time at it. My sincerest apologies to, well, everyone.