S
spoopily
Guest
Original poster
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.
"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.