Seeing the small estate from afar was one thing, but being within its walls was an entirely different experience for Orion. He found the architecture interesting, warm in color and carved to depict great heroes of old Aragon mixed with heathen folk gods and common farm animals in various activities. Luckily nonsexual activities. The sweeping scope and flair reminded him of Al-Marik or even Kurgan architecture in a fashion. No wonder the Duke wished for Hawkwood favor. There was no real prevalent problem with racism among the various humans in the known worlds, but anything foreign or foreign 'enough' was deemed closer to heresy than faithful purity. 

The place was small and though the courtiers and servants were a farcry from Orion's dear uncle's estate, they still filled the inner  palace walls with activity, carrying baskets of food and materials across the ashlar floor, a woman carrying freshly cleaned sheets up the forebuilding. Down the central stairway came the Duke, though not in the way Orion expected. The man was olive skinned, with dark curls now tinged with grey, as was his beard. Robes of red and yellow wrapped his form in the fashion of a local monarch. Oddly, he was carried on a small throne, and upon closer inspection Orion saw he was missing a leg. Orion was glad to see it didn't marr his personality or cheer.

"Welcome, my friends." The duke made a grand, sweeping gesture, as if to claim that all that was his was theirs as well. He studied each of them carefully, a glint of age and intelligence behind his smiling visage. "Welcome, weary travelers. I pains me to hear of your trials and tribulations upon your pilgrim road. You must be famished and understandably tired." 

"That we are, my Lord." Orion replied, bowing in polite submission to the master of the house. In contrast, Ragnar spat on the ground idly. Not out of animosity, he merely had something in his mouth. Logan gave a less courtly but equally submissive bow, unused to such things. 

The pleasantries lasted for far too long in Orion's eyes, but eventually they were allowed into the great hall. Sturdy trusses made of local stone, the bases carved as charging horses filled the vast room as half a dozen servants walked to and fro with food for dinner, though that was some hours away yet. The castellan or steward of the house greeted them at the foyer of the great chamber. He had a smile some might find pleasant and others might find a bit too menacing with his sharp facial hair.

"Welcome. I am Aldego Shazrin, a servant of the Duke. I am here to take you to your wing of the estate. Please, follow me."