The ride was brief, and even far from the mansion of Prince Iskander, Florence could sense the festivities. It was located in a secluded corner of the city, in a well-to-do neighbourhood inhabitted mostly by Olanian nobilities, but the Su Prince's mansion was set apart from the rest by a tall stone wall. Even from the outside, she can hear the sound of music and laughter, with large exotic beasts walking to and fro, dressed up with silk and beads, all so lively, all so colourful, improper by the culture of her people.<br/><br/>The front gate, made of wrought iron, clearly Olanian in design, was guarded by one single pot bellied man almost broader than he is tall. He wore a thin, red vest with caligraphy embroidered on it with golden threads, his bare chest exposed to the elements of the day. He was the guard, and he carried his large, curved blade openly, but he wore a smile that showed no malice, only hospitality.<br/><br/>"Welcome, oh flower of Olan" he said in heavily accented Olanian, bowing in an intricate gesture, his stomach pressed against his thigh, hanging low under him, unlike the men of the west who would consider barring their gut to be shameful, this one had no such hang-ups, clearly the Su has a greater appreciation of all types of human body. "May I ask your name so that I may announce your arrival to the prince, so that he may prepare his eyes to gaze upon such beauty?"<br/><br/>It was a crass thing to say, a commoner so openly praising a noblewoman's physical beauty, but the Su had always had a penchant for the dramatic