You've never been cheered on this way before.
When you ride through cities or towns, people shy away from you. Soldiers mean war, and war means death. Conscription.
But this is nearly a triumph.
It's completely overwhelming.
Armored soldiers line the main paved road, keeping the flood of peasants at bay. But the sheer weight of their numbers and the power of their chant terrifies you.
Too much attention. Too much praise for one who doesn't deserve it.
The citadel is smaller and more cramped than the outer town. Only the upper-class live here, along with the reigning lord and his household. But not today.
Apparently, everyone was invited.
You're stuck in your thoughts as you ride forward. Aurora is nervous beneath you. Even the warhorse is out of her depth. A small smile has spread over Darin's face, despite his obvious efforts to suppress it.
With a blank, stoic expression, you ride toward the lord's manor, following the path marked by the rows of soldiers.
The massive structure has been rebuilt since you were last in Lanorlay. Marble columns decorate and support the structure, heavily contrasted by the dark wood that makes up the bulk of the rest of it.
The doors are wide open in expectation of your arrival.
As you draw near, a young man rushes up to you. He says in accented Kantonian, "Hail, my lord, I shall take your mount. Lord Moren is expecting you."
Such titles and formality are… strange.