The rulers exchange tense glances, pride warring with the instinct to bow lower.
Then, with a sweep of his gauntleted arm, the commander turns and gestures toward the great doors of the palace. The massive door open slowly, their carved reliefs of beasts and battles illuminated by firelight within.
Boots thud against polished stone as the tier 6 commander strides ahead, leading them through the massive archway and into the echoing corridors of the palace. The air is colder here, the weight of the structure pressing down as if the walls themselves were alive.
The five rulers follow in silence, their entourages were left behind outside. At last, Chief Gorvak of Ironfang clears his throat, his gravelly voice breaking the silence.
"Sir… if you don't mind me asking," he rumbles, as he studies the broad back of the armored giant, "what rank are you? With that kind of aura, you must be one of the Marshals, yes?"
