You're not sure what you even expected. You haven't been in Lanorlay in five long years. When you left it, the city was battered by war, a shadow of its former self.
Much like you, in a way.
A paved road stretches on deeper into the city, to where the primary citadel stands defiantly against the jungle. Outside of its stone walls, the houses of peasants sprawl across the landscape, as dense as the trees of the jungle. Closest to the palisade is all farmland.
Men line this road, all the way up to the citadel. Some are equipped with the signature crossbow of the rangers. Others wear armor of lamellar. A handful wear plate. Some are visibly crippled and missing limbs.
They salute you.
In silence, the two of you ride as the veterans greet their commander returning home at last.
It's strange how hospitable hell is to those familiar with it.
You look over the soldiers around you, emotions bubbling deep within you.
These are the men that fought with you. That you got killed in hellish war. But here they are, saluting you. Here they are, respecting you, as if you're some kind of hero.
As you pass through the wooden houses of the peasantry, you can see the curious peeking down at you through their windows. They murmur amongst themselves. But not the veterans. They maintain their salute and their silence.
Thoughts swirl in your mind.