<span style="font-family: 'Georgia'">Despite taking part in extensive research on the economy and the culture of Dusan long before the start of his voyage, stepping foot in the region had instigated an overwhelming sense of culture shock for the visiting nobleman. Where his home country of Akros had arid terrain and a brutal climate, Dusan had its share of lush fields and a generally more forgiving environment. Where Akros had modest bazaars with demand exceeding the supply, Dusan had flourishing markets bursting at the seams with fresh fruit, luxurious tapestries, and water aplenty. By no means was his home a barren wasteland, but they had learned to get by with very little, and those who survived the harsh environment became hardier stock for it. Hardy enough to supply their country with soldiers known throughout the continent for their skill.<br/>
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Soldiers that Dusan did not have, for while their economy thrived, their army paled in comparison to the mighty hordes in Akros. Had there ever been an order to do so, Zyliel's people could have laid waste to the Dusanian population, but with a dense rainforest between them, it had simply never been practical. Not to mention the fact that despite the tense relations between their countries, Dusan posed no real threat. Quite the contrary, for with Akros' lands running drier with every passing season, their neighbors presented an opportunity. One that the Warchief Driatho had not been able to ignore, for the needs of his people greatly outweighed his dislike for King Jausemir.<br/>
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The two rulers had reached a tentative understanding some months prior and in preparation for a formally ratified treaty between them, the Warchief had sent his middle child to Dusan. Zyliel was to reside withn the royal palace for no less than one year, where he would learn the country's customs, familiarize himself with the royal family, and make good on Akros' promise to extend the proverbial olive branch if he was properly welcomed and embraced by the people of court. Dusan would thereafter have the use of their army, and Akros would receive the benefit of open agricultural trade. A mutually beneficial arrangement, albeit one for which Zyliel had no genuine taste.<br/>
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Unlike Warchief Driatho, the young Zyliel did not have full faith and confidence in the agreement. He had consented to the year-long mission, though he had only done so out of loyalty to his country, a begrudging sense of obedience for his father, and the general hope that his cooperation in building bridges would elevate him beyond his current post. The title of First Lieutenant was a farce, particularly with his younger brother, Valos, possessing the higher military rank of a Captain. This mission, he had told himself, would be what he needed to advance.<br/>
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Zyliel had kept that thought in mind as he met with the King, and again when as he sat to lunch with selected members of his entourage, he met with the Duke. The well-dressed Sarhet had not come alone, however. With him, he had brought along a slave, a well-built man clothed only in a sheet of green silk, who looked him directly in the eye when addressing him. For a moment, the Lieutenant only stared at him, one brow raised, galled at the very idea that a slave would dare to meet his gaze without so much as a bow. That sort of behavior simply did not go unnoticed in Akros, where a slave would have endured a lashing for such audacity. He had to remind himself that matters were different here. Informal. Without deference. Gods, but he hated Dusan already.<br/>
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As Zyliel moved to his feet, the three others at his table rushed to do the same. No one in the service of Akrosian nobility remained sitting when their superiors stood. Furthermore, though Zyliel had changed into a luxurious ensemble intended for lounging or entertaining, the scarlet and ebony fabrics hanging low near his knees but lacking sleeves, his entourage had remained in full military dress. Always apart from the nobility, regardless of their high rank.<br/>
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"A generous offer to be sure, Duke," Zyliel replied, though his slightly narrowed, khol-lined gaze remained on the slave standing before him. Eras. That he had the gumption to introduce himself without prompting unsettled the visiting noble. How was he expected to tolerate such informality for another four seasons?<br/>
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The Lieutenant tilted his head in the slightest as he looked the man over - albeit only slightly, owing to the weight of the embroidered linen wrapped around his head, concealing his hair. If he liked or disliked what he saw, he made no mention. At length, he spoke, "A proper bath would be most welcome. The journey has been most tiresome." Turning to regard the Duke, he offered a curt nod in a display of gratitude. "I look forward to this evening, Duke Sarhet. My father has sent an offering or two, tokens of good will, which will be presented at the banquet. Until then, if you will excuse me."</span>