Raigan's Failure.

Discussion in 'THREAD ARCHIVES' started by spoopily, Feb 24, 2014.

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  1. Aales watched the dancing crowds and sweating musicians play through the dark night. The stars decided to shine tonight, but only a few were given the permission to shine clearly through the crackling torches and glowing star bottles. The cleric held a small bottle of fresh star dust, seeing it's glow already starting to dim in his gloved hands.
    "Are you alright? You know what they say, Sir Aales, a bottle of star dust only dims early when it's occupant is scowling~"

    He squeezed the bottle in his hand, nodding at the younger woman and then turning away from the other. He gave a small dismissive wave, the loud, high pitched sparks of acrobats soaring through the air with glimmering confetti following close. Weaving through the crowd, bumping the middle aged screaming women and the young males frantically trying to keep up with the dressed up dancers, Aales noticed a few other warriors here. So he wasn't the only one.

    It wasn't a surprise, Aales was on a mission. It was clear that this blowing event is a target to unleash a wild orc attack. The possibility was prominent, orcs practically leaked form the forest and huddled around this part of the district. It didn't help that they were residing against the wall's thinnest corner, the monsters could give the stone a small knock and all of Raigan's southern wall was sure to come tumbling down... Aales sighed in the mossy heat ans it was a humid summer night and found himself clenching the grip on mace. Silently denying a few tipsy dancers, he decided to calm his nerves at the large open bar. He braced himself, ready for the loud slurring of the partying crowd, ready to escape at even the smallest sight of vomit.

    Aales sat down rather slowly, feeling awfully uncomfortable. He was given the pleasure of sitting on a low wooden box. Sadly, being six feet and four inches, it wasn't the most pleasant thing to sit on a wobbly crate that sunk under his weight. Trying to shift too much, he was given a large bottle of alcohol even before he could turn his attention to the volunteer bartender. Most likely an inn keeper, and a lucky one at that; Any inn keeper was hungry to get a gig at a southern spot for it's generous pay. Aales could only cringe at the thought of tending to these babbling alcoholics, before taking a small sip of the sour drink. He smacked his lips in distaste before pushing the bottle away, resting his shield next to him and keeping his mace in his right hand. Commoner spirits were high on humility, but low on honesty, he could feel the grains of cheap sugar run over his tongue in a futile manner to sweeten the liquid. He was High Paladin of Saint Glidon's wealthiest courts, he didn't belong here. Hell, even the guards were having their own bit of fun. If there's one thing Aales cannot stand about Raigan, it was their lack of faith in blood shed, lack of self-discipline.
    He was neck deep into his bitter thoughts about this god-forsaken event and ended up tapping his gift in a bottle against his padded knee in a fast pace.​
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  2. She came out of retirement for this stupid party. But to her, it wasn't stupid two days ago when she planned on attending as a guest and not a warrior. Of course then she heard what part of town the party was in. Why throw a party so close to Orc territory? Hell if she knew. Zorra didn't wear any armour, since the chance of the attack was just as low as it was high. But unlike most women in this time, she wore trousers and a loose shirt. Her copper red hair was braided to fall down her back. She had her long sword strapped to her back, along with a small dagger around her right thigh. Orc's weren't that big of a threat in her mindset. She wasn't impressed by the way Raigan held itself. Always joyous and partying, never really caring what was outside the walls.

    She believed it was because most people don't venture outside the walls. Of course they knew of the dangers, but because there were bricks in the way of every evil and destructive beast in the forest they were safe. She rolled her storm grey eyes at the mere thought. She looked down at herself and noticed that she didn't look much like the other guards and warriors that had showed up to the event. Most of them wearing plated armour.

    She kept her disdain of this place deep within her gut, knowing what kind of fights she could spark up with all the drunks around. She stayed closer to the wall. A dangerous place to be considering if there was an attack they would come straight through there. Zorra didn't mind though. She had quick reflexes. Even though she wasn't dancing, Zorra had sweat dotting her forehead and face. SUmmer was both the best and worst time of year. Warm enough to go outside the walls and stay until dark, but annoying enough to not really want to go.

    Zorra sighed and leaned against the wall, scanning the crowd and trying to breathe shallow from the overwhelming scent of alcohol and sweat. She crinkled her nose, keeping close watch on the people, too engrossed in fun to worry.
  3. Slipping with practiced ease through the crowds, a cloaked figure quickly took notes on her surroundings. The figure smiled as she scanned the crowd. She enjoyed the frequent parties Raigan hosted for two reasons. The first was that she enjoyed the feeling of the crowd. The raucous laughter and loudness provided a comfort of knowing that you were never alone. Crowds were her element; she knew how to direct them, how to raise them up in a rabble, how to calm them down in case of a revolt. She also knew that if you were in a crowd, there was much less of a chance of being noticed. Even the smell was a blessing; even the best hounds had trouble tracking people though the stench. Yes, she quite liked crowds. The other reason, was for the alcohol. Not for the taste of course, but for its innate ability to loosen tongues. She made it a rule to never drink when she went to these parties. However, she made sure to keep a fair amount of coin in her pocket, just in case there was someone who might be in a more favorable mood after a couple drinks. Of course, that was when she was gathering information, which was not what she was doing today.
    Walking up the the bar, she positioned herself inconspicuously in the corner. A steady, sharp movement caught her eye. Gold eyes traced the dim outline of a tall man uneasily fiddling with a bottle of stardust. She recognized him immediately as a paladin from Saint Glidon's courts.
    Ah, found you. She thought. Lazily pushing herself off of the wall, she slipped over to his side of the bar. Quietly, she slipped out a small broach from inside her cloak.
    "Bartender! One here." She called loudly, matching the crowds volume. As she slapped a coin on the table, she turned her hand so that the paladin behind her, and only the paladin behind her, could clearly see the broach, which bore the insignia of the High King. Slipping easily into a space next to him, she held a the bottle and engaged in loud, meaningless banter with some of the more vocal people in the bar. Suddenly, she leaned back so that she was level with the paladin's head. "Behind the stall selling the festival masks in five." She whispered. It wasn't a question. She stood up smoothly and disappeared into the crowd again.
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