"My Prince, it is an honor to have your presence beneath my roof'' the chieftain of the Voghondai rumbled, steadying his thick frame against the carved arms of his chair. His expression shifted between a polite twitch of the mouth and a broad, toothy grimace, as if he were cycling through an armory of southern courtesies to find one that fit for the event.
A full decade had passed since the Voghondai were first granted soil in the King's dominions, yet even now, many, Torghan included, stumbled over the finer points of Yarzat custom. The sacred feast days of the Five were a baffling maze to them; the holy allegories, the weeping statues, and the solemn fasts were lost on men whose spirit demanded little of them, even less than than hymns in chapels.
