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Night time within the double walled city was something else, the less moral denizens of the slums and Menches village coming out in full force. Torches and lanterns lit up the night sky, wood and oil often imported from far away, while others took large portable candles through the darkened streets, for it was dangerous to go alone and in the dark. Whores and dancing girls flitted through alleyways, thugs and miscreants leaping from one rooftop to the next. The majority of the traders had locked up their wares and closed their stalls, but an entirely different sort of business carried on, stifling the city of any thought of rest for the weary. However, for those who knew a quiet part of town, or for those with enough alcohol to deaden their ears, it was possible to find peace here, for there are plenty of high rollers on the streets of Ayotya at night, and its denizens care little for the common drunk or the frankless patron. It was in this atmosphere that Gael Evrard found himself, tucked between a pile of city waste and two heavenly bottles of centauri Brandy. Ayotya had taken little from the centaur in its long history, but their brandy was one of its prized secrets. Gael rested his bruised and beaten head against the back wall of the building, taking another swig of the burning liquor. Its intense bittersweet tang shot his mind to life and then deadened it a moment later, melding all into a serene glow of pastels, the torchlight of the street burning a hole in the side of his memory. The cook sat, and he drank, and he contemplated doing little else, for he had been awarded this night of serenity and brandy induced enlightenment. Little did Gael know that he was to meet his two greatest friends that night. And little did Vale know that he was about to set on an adventure more dangerous than even the escapade he was currently involved in. Her name was Adelaide, and she was stunning. Long golden hair fell to her waist in immaculate curls, neatly caressing the loose pink sash that tucked in her dress, tied in a ribbon at the side. Her dress was a lighter shade of pink, a color rather unseen and provocative amongst Ayotya and its simpler fares. It pleated out to a wide skirt at the bottom, but the top was what fixated Vale's eyes, the bodice carefully holding on to what seemed to be two of Ourissa's three moons, plucked straight out of the sky. As if to perfect the illusion Adelaide bedecked her cleavage with a masterful array of pearls, shining white stars dangling above a sea of pure pleasure. The pearls matched perfectly the ring on her right hand. Her husband, an ex Legionarre who had moved to Ayotya to be with his love, towered above her like an ogre or a demon. This man could even intimidate a centaur, his tremendous body only matched by Adelaides supple curves, beautiful hair, and pearl entrenched spoils. She had introduced Vale to him as an old friend from her childhood, and this was nearly true, for she had been but a child until she had met the gambler, three days ago. Vale had not quite had enough, and had set his goal for the night on a second helping, husband or no. Of course, getting Adelaide away from her husband was no simple task, but it was not one that Vale had never performed before. All it took was a lot of liquor, a few distracting laughs, and a dab of powder into the behemoths ale. Normally this powder was sold to those wishing to influence the girls, but Vale never had much need to sedate a woman. They were always more than willing, so long as their husbands would part with them. The three lived up the night, joking and laughing as friends, the jovial atmosphere of the pigshead tavern playing right into the gamblers schemes. Of all the places in Ourissa he loved Menches village. It was not exactly home, but it was truly as close as you could come to the innards of a Varanian whorehouse. Ahh, the memories. While Vale did his most familiar dance, the third and youngest member of the soon to be trio walked along, Firenze's sword never quite leaving his eye. He was not too sure how someone would steal something so large, but Henrik would not allow it to happen all the same. Kip was clearly having more fun than his master, the smells of Ayotya wafting all around his powerful nose. There was trash here, garbage there, waste all around. Putrid odors of rotted food and soiled clothing swallowed up the street like a monstrous haze. Kip was clearly overjoyed. Henrik had made his way straight through the north Ayotyan gate, looking ever more dismayed at the prices for one night stays at an inn. He had wandered straight through the slums without incident, his armor bulky enough to scare away the fate of any other kid who ventured into the eastern quarter at night. Henrik was tired, he was hungry, but most of all he was unwilling to part with his money. He did not know what to do in this world so different from his home, and he did not know when he would come across more coin. The boy had decided to find the edge of town and sleep under a tree, for that felt more familiar to him than these crowded and dangerous streets, and it did not cost an arm and a leg. So Henrik moved quickly through Menches village, wondering if the city would ever end. The houses seemed to spill out from the wall, belching into what had become an even seedier nightlife than the places he'd been in previously. As an example of the debauchery he was witnessing, he saw a skinny, pale man with the tiniest mustauche shoved out of a bar, a burly tree trunk of a man bounding out after him. A woman in a pink dress looked out the doorway, not knowing who she wanted to be victorious. "The HELL are you doing, thinking you can drug me?!" The ex legionarre bellowed. Henrik wondered if he was related to an Ogre. Of course not, that would be silly, but he did look the part. Vale got to his feet, stammering. "Now now, you've got it all wrong. It was an accident I assure you." The gambler looked both ways. "Besides, I'm out of town tomorrow, off on a dragon hunt, I need to be in one piece." He laughed slightly, trying everything he could to keep from being clobbered. Henriks interest picked up. A dragon hunt? Surely the skinny man was joking. "Then you'd better run!" The giant yelled. Vale took the hint, turning and dashing as fast as his legs could carry him. Adelaide's husband chased off after him. Henrik didn't have much time to think. Should he help the skinny one? He was surely joking about the dragon hunt. But what if he wasn't... And what if Henrik didn't have it in him to take down a drunken oaf. He couldn't confront a dragon or even a basilisk if he couldn't put down an angry husband. That sealed the deal. Henrik dashed off, following the pair, Kip taking his nose out of a heap of garbage to run after the young Firenze. The group dashed through the broken cobblestones of the Merchants Highway, ducking down alleys, leaping over drunks, smashing into honest citizens. It was quite the scene. Henrik lost himself completely, doing his best to keep up with his quarry in the midst of Menches nightlife. Torchlight shot by as he ran, and at some moments he lost sight of the giant amidst the crowds of people, many stopping in their tracks to watch. But he didn't lose track of his voice, the angry yelling and bellowing turning a left and darting straight down an alleyway. It was dark here, and a dead end. Vale turned around, revealing two tiny daggers and baring them like fangs. He knew he was cornered, and knew his opponent wasn't just any angry drunk. Vale gulped hard, sweat dripping down his forehead. He had made many wrong turns in his lifetime, but this was perhaps the worst. Adelaides husband stopped in his tracks, grinned and rolled up his sleeves. "Oh, little daggers. I'm so scared. Kid, I served in the River Guard for ten years. I've shat on pirates ten times as deadly as you." He laughed. Taking another two steps towards Vale, his ear picked up something behind him. The behemoth turned, Vale seeing his chance and lunging out. A powerful forearm clotheslined the gambler, crushing into the side of his head. The young womanizer stumbled sideways into a cold tavern wall. "And who are you little boy? A runt who stole his daddies armor?" The ogre-man laughed out loud. Henrik gulped, wondering if he was that transparent. He unsheathed his bastard sword and took another step towards the giant, whose shadow towered over him. It just then dawned on Henrik that if he killed this man, he could be arrested. He would have to subdue him without causing any real damage, somehow. While Henrik stared blankly ahead and tried to get his bearings, the veteran Legionarre swung out a terrible right hook. As the young Firenze watched the wrecking ball hurtle towards him, something in the back of his mind took over. He ducked, dropping his weight with a curious elegance, at the same time slamming the flat of his sword into the mans gut. The behemoth exhaled hard, but seemed no worse for wear, countering with a tremendous kick. Henrik saw the blow coming, and leapt high into the air, pulling back the sword with his left hand and slamming forth his right fist. He caught the giant straight in the nose, the sound of cartilidge cracking as he pulled back. Adelaide's husband gasped once before falling over backwards like a felled tree, everything going black. Kip let out a congratulatory bark, his tail wagging rapidly. The young Firenze, clad in old rusty armor and his own innocence, had won his first battle. He blinked hard, trying to shake the illusion away, but it was real. Vale stumbled back onto his feet, feeling his face carefully to make sure his most prized possession would heal up properly. "What were you saying about a dragon hunt?" Henrik stammered at last, looking at the skinny gambler. It was just then that they noticed the fat drunk in the alleyway, cradling a bottle of brandy like a girlfriend and hiding behind mounds of trash. "A D-dragon? I bet they tathte great!" Gael said, raising the bottle high and sloshing the rest of the booze on his shirt. |