Meet Eliza

To your surprise, Eliza is not holding a traditional feast for her guests, the diplomatic standard. Instead, she has not seen any of them yet. Word has been spread around that she was waiting for a final group of guests to arrive before addressing all of her suitors at once. The rumors of this unorthodox welcome is confirmed the next day after you arrive. The Duchess' servants relay the message to each guest that they and their entourages are to assemble on the field within the walls of the estate.

You arrive at the designated meeting place, a smallish grassy square, finding it buzzing with activity. Flashy outfits from a variety of cultures both foreign and familiar fill the field with a rainbow of colors and designs. Though Almain is the go-to language for official Confederation business, numerous tongues jostle for supremacy of the airwaves as the suitors and their retinues converse before the event commences. You, Dietrich, a handful of translators/diplomats, and several guards in half-plate make up your group. You find a place on the edge of the crowd, as close to the front as you can get. A woooden platform of maybe 7 feet marks the end of the crowd. You settle in to wait.

A hush falls over the crowd as two women exit the castle. They mount the platform, and the elder of the two begins to speak. "I welcome you, distinguished guests, to my home." So this must be Eliza. She is a woman dressed in fine clothes of the latest southern fashion, which leaves her tan arms uncovered and narrows at the waist. Her long black hair has been painstakingly manicured into long tresses of perfect curls, which fall both behind her and over her conservatively covered bosom. Her face is the picture of stately grace and elegance, boasting a mature look well beyond her years. She is a conventionally attractive woman, though, nitpicky as it may sound, maybe too conventional, lacking in any differentiating flaws or eccentricities. The other woman is quite different. She is rather tall, with a slender, willowy figure that contrasts with the matronly form of Eliza. Though her skin has a vibrant golden hue like many of her countrymen, her long hair is straight and blonde, rare in these parts. She looks to be several years younger than her companion, likely just recently an adult, and her face is cute and babyish.

Eliza continues. "I know this is an unusual greeting for suitors, and I apologize for any convenience and discomfort. But I ask that you bring your sympathy today, as my position is an unusual one. Few women are able to choose for themselves a husband when they are from as high a station as mine." she pauses to let her words sink in, then continues. "It is with deep regret that I must say I cannot meet personally with you all. You are far too many, and my time far too limited, to make a good match through normal courtship. However, we here in Toscana know how to enjoy life. That is why," she says, a mischievous smirk cracking her stony visage, "I have decided that my husband shall be selected by trial."

The crowd comes alive again, muttering in all sorts of languages. What crosses the language barrier is tone, and you pick up on confusion and anger. Eliza does not stop to answer questions, holding up a hand to bid the crowd be silent. "You will be judged in five trials by myself and my dear friend and cousin, baroness Mathilde di Lari. Those among you who prove yourselves best shall then be selected for the second round. I appreciate your time gentlemen, and for now I bid you 'Adieu'" Eliza walks off the platform and back to the castle, courtly as can be.

A contest. So that's how she plans on whittling down her choices. This is not going to be as simple as you thought.