<span style="font-family: 'Georgia'">Zyliel made a conscious effort to keep himself from grimacing at the notion that these events would be somewhat commonplace. Between himself and his brothers, he was not the sort to enjoy that kind of revelry. They would have enjoyed it, no doubt. Particularly Valos, his younger, who used the title of Captain to his advantage in every possible situation, perhaps especially at events where drink flowed freely and women along with them. Zyliel had little interest in such things and although he didn't say as much, he suspected the slave had determined as much simply by his reaction.<br/>
<br/>
Though he remained relatively quiet for the duration of his bath, Zyliel's mind continued working through what he would soon be made to endure, though one cautious eye remained trained on Eras as he dried and slipped into a clean set of clothes. Despite having traveled for some time and craving an ensemble made for comfort, he had opted for something more fitting the diplomatic nature of the banquet. The cloth spun in Akros laid heavily on his lean frame but breathed well, despite the many layers, though he imagined it breathed considerably less than the attire worn by his slave. He imagined that manner of clothing to be more suited for a female slave than a male one, but credited it to a simple differing of cultures and left it alone.<br/>
<br/>
"Silk seems terribly impractical in this sort of climate," he mentioned, glancing over his shoulder to the man standing sidelong. "But if it is the customary fabric for clothing, I would have you arrange for the tailor in the coming days. For myself and my second. He will be at my side this evening as well." <br/>
<br/>
Ensuring his hair was properly dry, he rummaged through one of the smaller trunks that had been brought to his rooms, selecting a long strip of fabric in a bold shade of crimson, intricately embroidered with golden thread on its front and plain on its underside. Carrying this closer to a full-length mirror at the far end of the room, he arranged it around his head and proceeded to wind the cloth this way and that, holding back his hair and forming his signature turban. In Akros, his penchant for the style was somewhat old-fashioned, as most men cropped their hair shorter and had no need for it, but Zyliel was nothing if not traditionally-minded.<br/>
<br/>
"Suitable?" he echoed, glimpsing Eras in the glass as he worked. "Of course. I would make a point of commending Dusanian hospitality. Your king has spared no expense to make myself and my men comfortable during our residence, for which I shall be sure to extend our gratitude." His reply lacked warmth, likely owing to his militant state of mind, though it wasn't entirely lacking in sincerity.<br/>
<br/>
Holding the red fabric in place, Zyliel turned and gestured toward the open trunk from which he had taken it. "You will find an ornate black box inside," he said. "Bring it to me."</span>