Darius paced back and forth in front of the mirror and pulled on his cheek every now and then. There was this pit in his stomach, and he wasn't quite sure what he was feeling. Apprehension or excitement? It wasn't the first of the communal feasts hosted by Ironshade, but none in recent history carried quite the same weight. The feast tonight was more than a celebration, it was a statement. A signal to the rest of Kaldora that Ironshade was not broken. Not lost.
He stared at himself once more. That's right. He was making history.
With a long breath, he ran his fingers through his hair again, not caring if they refused to settle. He wore a finely made brown tunic, the colour resembling polished mahogany wood. Its cuffs bore subtle silver embroidery, Ironshade's crest woven into the sleeves with care. His shoulders were squared, though his chest was tight.
