[center][img]https://cdna.artstation.com/p/assets/images/images/003/573/466/large/robert-molnar-street-teszt-comp-v012.jpg?1475153189[/img][/center] Things had seemed to calm to a more manageable pace back at [color=ed1c24][b]The Wrangled Drunkard[/b][/color]. Many of the rowdier patrons had found their way upstairs or out in the back of the inn to relieve themselves. An elder woman sitting at the bar recounts stories of her youth to a rather tired looking Mira. Meanwhile Dig and his band of mercenaries play [color=7bcdc8][b]quartermage[/b][/color] at a table near the now lit fireplace. The moonlit sky pierces the windows of the tavern as night time [color=8882be][b]summer winds[/b][/color] sail through every crack and crevice. There is something mystifying yet fear inducing about [color=9e0b0f][color=9e0b0f]Astorian[/color][/color] air. The smells of the festival and [color=00a99d][b]sea salt[/b][/color] travel throughout the bar, and the cold had snuffed out most of the overwhelming warmth of drunken guests. [hider= I’m Ready for Bed] Packing up your things you make your way towards the stairs to the right of the tavern. Each step you take is clunky and misplaced as you make your way up what seems like a countless number of flights. The journey has been a long one, and your body has felt the weight of a long day and uncertainty. Finally, you make your way to the floor that has been assigned to your party. Reaching into your belongings you fetch from your person [color=aba000][b]the key[/b][/color] given to you earlier in the day. The bronze metal is rough against your fingers. You notice that incense line the hallway leading down towards your room. The smell of [color=a36209][b]cinnamon[/b][/color] and [color=82ca9d][b]wood-elves[/b][/color] is enough to lull you further into a daze. Fumbling somewhat you finally push the key into its chamber before twisting. The door moves to your touch with a creak accompanying it. The room is darkly lit. You finally manage to make your way towards the cot prepared for you. You can feel the blankets...animal fur. From out of the small window have a view of the [color=0076a3][b]Alexandria Ocean[/b][/color]. The mix of moonlight and mage fire are subtle enough to capture your attention for a moment. That moment is brief, however, as your body collapses onto the bed. You shut your eyes; you’re ready to drift off to sleep. [/hider] [hider=I’ll Stay Up] There was no sense in wasting the comforts afforded to you at little cost of your own. Well, that wasn’t entirely true, was it? You’d be paying some price. How steep that price is remains to be seen. Studying the festivities outside from a window you notice that the [color=00a99d][b]guards[/b][/color] seem to have started shepherding the more belligerent folks back to their homes. There was still quite the bit of commotion, but you notice that it isn’t as big of a crowd as before. The mages seem to have returned to the [color=a187be][b]academy[/b][/color], and the fortune tellers back to their caravans. The escorts are still out, and no doubt mingling with the all too familiar city guard. The crackling of the fireplace actually manage to compete with the ambiance outside, and its embers pull you deeper into thought about your future. There’s a thickness in the air that you can’t describe. You feel an anxiousness rising in your chest, but you try your best to shake it off. This [color=9e0039][b]Talon Company[/b][/color], whatever they truly are, it seems your future is with them for now. Sinking into your seat, you find yourself relaxing as best you can. [/hider] [hr] [center][hider=][youtube]https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=63zucULy_lg[/youtube][/hider][/center] [center][quote]A joint post by [@Shivershiver], [@Tangletail], and [@Templar Knight][/quote][/center] The clock tower that loomed over the port city of Ardent’s Fall struck midnight, a hint for the revelers in their drunken stupor to return to their families, but only a few took the hint, evidently preferring their newfound companions in taverns and on the streets much more favorable than what awaited in their own homes. Between the raucous throngs of foreign party-goers and frustrated guards attempting to quell their noise slipped a solitary cloaked figure bearing a singularly peculiar mask upon his face. Among the ruckus of the crowd, all in equally strange and festive clothing, Falk was able to slide through to his destination unmolested. He wished every day in Ardent’s Fall was as chaotic as this one, filled to the brim with curious characters and foreigners so that he would fit right in, almost feeling at ease. For the time being, Falk would simply have to enjoy the freedom the Festival of Broken Conquerors allowed him, though it would likely be cut short by the damned Talon Company. Indeed, much of the festival’s charms were lost upon him. The bright, vibrant colors of the city and patrons all came to Falk in muted greys and blacks, while smells both delightful and abhorrent fell upon dead senses. Truly what Falk reveled in the most was the persistent jaunty tunes of minstrels and bards as he walked to The Wrangled Drunkard. The monster hunter’s solitude on the road, while welcome at times, left him desperate for a tune of any form. Even the cacophony of songs and shots that assailed his ear canals was a nice change from the silence of nature and the occasional croak of his raven companion. The cloaked hunter stepped into the inn and felt all eyes lock onto him. A wave of nervous energy flushed over him. Surely they saw through his crude façade and would take him out and rip him limb from limb. He certainly looked strange, a man wearing so many layers of clothes in the heat of summer, not an inch of flesh exposed to the warm air. Why, he didn’t even have a horse or bag, simply carrying everything within his coat. A gloved hand wrapped bony fingers round the hilt of his sword. It took Falk more than a moment to realize that, in fact, no one was looking at him; another bout of paranoia, cursed things, which were becoming even more frequent. This wasn’t some backwater tavern with three patrons, the place was packed to the gills with drunks and whores, neither of which he particularly enjoyed, but he could blend in with ease. Falk slowly strode towards the barkeep, a frazzled elvish woman, a little homely, but still attractive. In the past, the hunter would have flirted incessantly with the elf, bedding her with ease, but now he could barely mutter the words “Checking in, Falk..” The woman nodded, and he settled into a corner seat alone, observing the crowd, finally feeling some level of comfort. .... From across the bar Barris nodded at Raux’s words, thinking to himself briefly. The two seemed much too caught up in their drunken conversation to notice the the new guest. “Definitely sounds like my family. Except they pretend they have such power, the Wolframs probably have a little bit more substance behind their pride than my own relatives I’d wager. Doesn’t make them any more endearing, I’ll grant.” He sighs. “Well, she certainly looks mighty capable, hopefully she backs it up.” The slightly intoxicated feline thought this over, and gave a brief nod when a few stories cropped up. “Aye… I’d say she can prove herself with ease. Word of the people is she’s quite the fierce fighter. Hardened to the concept of death quite early, sadly that also means we’re gonna be dealing with a wacko.” Barris shrugs and slips off of his stool, a bit wobbly on to his feet. “Wackos come in spades where I’m from, just gotta know how to deal with one, or give them a fair distance depending on which one they are.” The cat clicked her tongue and started to step for the stairs, each step she took was made slow and steady to make sure she doesn’t just topple over. “Yeah? Well frankly you got two to deal with. I’ll let you figure the other out…” The cat mumbled with a sigh. The illusions of comfort and drunken camaraderie were soon shattered by a chorus of horrible cries from outside Raux too had heard the commotion from outside the tavern. She paused as her ear flicked, and for that moment… she was deciding to ignore it… or go check it out. Barris thought on Raux’s words but then turned towards front door as he also heard something going on outside the inn. Taking a few steps, carefully to mind his disoriented state, he looked out of a window pane at the street outside. “Looks like something’s got folks’ attention out there, not that means much during the Festival, but something’s drawing a crowd . . . Not hearing many cheers either.” “Always the excitement in a large port town… not always the sort I’d prefer…” The cat mumbled as she stumbled up to a window. She did not lean against it, as much as she did throw herself against it and stick. Her drowsy eyes rolled down the streets, and quickly took note of a gathered mob. “Ah… hell… looks like the shite up, jumped, and slapped the fat lady in the face…” The Dwarven gunslinger waved his hand dismissively. “I’m not the city watch, let them handle mobs, even though I can’t vouch for how many of them haven’t been drinking.” He steps away from the window and starts walking back over to the stairs up. “I’m off to check my room and sleep some of this off. My hand’s no use to anyone if I can’t aim straight. I’d advise you the same, my feline friend.” “Aye, aye…” Raux mumbled. Though she did not move, she just… laid against the window, letting her eyes watch the streets for her. “Ave a good night my short bearded friend.” Her gaze remained transfixed on the mob. And soon she found the sea of bodies growing angry. Rapid ungulating waves and accusing glares as they spoke among themselves. “Oh great… it’s about to be… about to be a damned lynching.” Raux would watch as most of the patrons rushed from the inn and to the streets, where they were met with a gristly scene. The cougar grumbled before slinking her way out of the tavern, then ambled to the crowd. [hr] Mobs of townsfolk are huddled around the [b][color=0072bc]Viceroy’s Palace[/color][/b]. The swell of the crowd, which had originally died down, seemed back to its numbers during the height of the festival earlier in the day. It's difficult to make out the scene in front of you with so many people in the way, but you do your best to push past some of the townsfolk. There are a few particularly enticing merchant stands around for those who might be not be able to see over the large humans, elves, and other creatures. “[color=00a99d][b]Everyone, step back, now![/b][/color]” You hear the sound of a gruff voice yelling out to the crowd. “[color=00a99d][b]I said move back, now or I’ll have the lot of you in the mines by the morrow![/b][/color]” Making your way out into the crowd you see a city guard adorned in a rather majestic maroon cape. His helm is, unlike the other guards, made of brass and styled like a bass. It framed a face twisted in grief and disgust. “[color=ed145b][b]By the ten! He’s dead[/b][/color],” you hear shouted out by a woman in the crowd of people. “[color=c4df9b][b]A murderer...in the city. Gods protect us,[/b][/color]” you hear another civilian whisper. The murmurs of the crowd begin to permeate the area, and so to does a light rain. You feel the rain wash over townsfolk and cobblestone alike. As you look at the crevices in between the bricks you notice the trail of blood riding along the rain water. You notice a number of guards making their way towards the estate in formation with weapons and shields drawn. You can still hear whispers of panic throughout the crowd, and among many of the low-ranking guards. You wonder to yourself what this commotion is coming from, but your thoughts are quickly tuned out by the sounds of familiar church bells. Their melancholic song rings throughout the city, and over head a flock of crows seek refuge from the intense sounds. Upon looking again towards the Viceroy’s Estate you see it. It’s marvelous antiquity serves as an oxymoron or some kind of cruel joke. It is an affront to the onlookers for what seems obvious now. Investigating the building you notice the window to the Viceroy’s balcony opened wide with the drapes dancing like wild fire in the wind, and hanging from the balcony is [color=00746b][b]Viceroy Cadby[/b][/color] himself. His shirt is torn, nearly off, exposing his gut as abrasions and cuts dot his exposed skin. His eyes are rolled back into his head, lifeless, and his face stained with a blue tint. [center][img]https://i.pinimg.com/originals/a3/15/80/a31580276f8d8b5f2e0284301529c727.jpg[/img][/center]