The sun was high above the city of Arduronaven when Alpheo rode through its battered gates, the sound of his horse's hooves muffled by the debris and blood-soaked streets. He sat tall in his saddle, his polished armor glinting in the light, the silver-and-gold cloak of his wife's house draped across his shoulders. His expression was stern, his gaze sweeping over the ruin that had once been the proud city of Arduronaven
Behind him rode his commanders, their banners snapping in the breeze, bearing the sigils of houses loyal to his wife. Each lord carried themselves with the satisfaction of a campaign reaching its crescendo, forgetting that their aid in the campaign had been minimal.
