The Gilded Gates
The city gates lack any sort of truly fortified strength. Made up of ornately sculpted metal and climbing, flowery vines, they are clearly made more for ornament than for true protection. The safety of the city is, instead, left in the hands of the armored guards that patrol its streets, and stand at its gates. Five stand outside the quiet gates, no matter what time of day. They are always and uniformly dressed in blindingly polished metal armor bearing Roque's crest. They are silent as they watch visitors pass them by.
Up ahead one can see the city's plateaux rise slowly over the cliffs that touch the enchanting Mer de la Luna to the right. There is no sign of the harbour, save those imposing ships that are large enough to be noticed from here. Obviously the docks are well within the protection of the city walls.
From time to time a salty breeze carries the tolling of a bell, reminding the inhabitants of Roque of their duty to the One god, Dominicus. Other typical sounds of the Mer are drowned out by the busy city life, which starts at these very gates.
Just within the gates, protected from sun and rain by a matching overhang, sit two men at an obviously repaired wooden desk. From the looks of it this sturdy and expensive wood has seen quite some action. Quills and sheets of parchment sit in front of them. Another guard stands beside them, quietly watching any newcomers who approach. A sign above the desk - lettered in gold calligraphy - reads "Information" in Elvish, with its Common Tongue translation beneath it in smaller, less ornate script
A few steps beyond the gates houses are being built -or perhaps rebuilt- on blackened ground. People are working without complaints to get the buildings ready for use as soon as they can. Their faces stern and sober, they contradict the happy tales of the Eternal Summer City.
Yet the cue before the gates speaks of better times as merchants and merrimakers alike are trying to find their way into the city before the famed Parrot Parade festival breaks loose on Chyril 26th. Plenty of costumes are already shown or meticulously hidden, making for a colourful time of waiting.
The Gilded Gates ~ entrance thread to Roque
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The Gilded Gates ~ entrance thread to Roque
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Nellan yawned lightly into the morning air. It was a serene seeming morning, the way the gentle breeze brought the tolling of the city bell to the Achadhiel's ears. As the yawn passed, she combed her fingers through her long dark curls. She had washed her hair the night prior. A fresh face for a fresh start. The woman had thought as she had scrubbed most of the dust and dirt of travel out of her hair. She had even tied her hair back with her favorite green ribbons this morning. When she had come in sight of the city, and felt the breeze off the Mer de La Luna on her cheeks, she had loosed her hair, wishing to enjoy the way it played in the wind. Taking a deep breath of the sweet air, the Achadhiel girl continued to the city.
Nellan sighted the guards outside the gate, and smiled at their pristine armor. I hope they bring the same discipline to the training ground as they use when they polish their armor. Nellan smiled. She felt pride for her new city before she had even entered the gate. Her step lightened at the sight of the large ships she could see, excitement of examining the city's fleet quickening the girl's step.
The sight of the harbor from afar was not all that quickened her step, as the sky seemed to open with the wrath of the Gods and water poured suddenly from the, moments prior, blue and sunny morning sky. Nellan gasped at the cold water pattering down on the back of her neck, and stood her shirt collar up to protect as best it could.
Despite the rain, Nellan grinned as she noted the fine artwork that had gone into the city's gilded gates. A testament to the Adhiel living within, those gates are. Nellan liked this city of Roque D'Ancourt, and she had not even gained the city yet.
The Achadhiel passed under the city gates, and looked about ever-so-briefly, noting the scene within. She first saw the information booth, and her smile widened at the intricate sign, feeling a twinge of pride at her ability to read it. Wiping the water from her cheeks, she moved to stand under the awning of the information booth.
The smile disappeared from Nellan's face as her eyes grazed the scene that could only be the aftermath of a fire. Fire terrified the girl. Growing up and living in a forest, where many buildings were formed of the trees themselves, fire was a very rational terror. The young Achadhiel's brow furrowed momentarily, though the attitude of the people repairing the buildings strengthened her spirit. They do not appear fearful, or angry. She thought. This seemed a very matter-of-fact philosophy to Nellan. Whats done is done, one must not dwell on the thing, but only seek to reconcile it. Her Adhiel upbringing showed in her easy understanding of the concept. It is still a loss, and a sad and frightening thing. She mused. -and I'm sure the sudden rain is not helping them.
Nellan had heard of the Parrot Parade festival as she had disembarked from her ship, the news reaching the lands surrounding Roque. Colors and costumes for the festival of the following day delighted Nellan's eyes. She wished to understand more of the holiday, and decided to observe and participate to her utmost ability, or allowance. The Achadhiel desired to understand and learn the culture of her new home.
Well, I have arrived. Nellan thought, staring at the desk with the gilded information sign in front. She sighed and stepped closer to the table, making way for other travellers, politely waiting her turn to ask a question of the Men behind the desk. When she stood in front of the men, she folded her hands in front of her, and waited for acknowledgement from one man or the other. When she was granted the attention she desired, she would smile and pardon her intrusion. "I do apologize for bothering you, but I am new to Roque D' Ancourt, and I would like to find temporary lodging." Nellan paused and smiled up at the crying sky. "Could you give me any information about inns, and perhaps tell me where I might inquire in the next few days about more permanent housing?" The Achadhiel blinked the last drops from her eyes, glad at the respite from the booth's awning, and brushed her sopping hair out of her face.
Nellan sighted the guards outside the gate, and smiled at their pristine armor. I hope they bring the same discipline to the training ground as they use when they polish their armor. Nellan smiled. She felt pride for her new city before she had even entered the gate. Her step lightened at the sight of the large ships she could see, excitement of examining the city's fleet quickening the girl's step.
The sight of the harbor from afar was not all that quickened her step, as the sky seemed to open with the wrath of the Gods and water poured suddenly from the, moments prior, blue and sunny morning sky. Nellan gasped at the cold water pattering down on the back of her neck, and stood her shirt collar up to protect as best it could.
Despite the rain, Nellan grinned as she noted the fine artwork that had gone into the city's gilded gates. A testament to the Adhiel living within, those gates are. Nellan liked this city of Roque D'Ancourt, and she had not even gained the city yet.
The Achadhiel passed under the city gates, and looked about ever-so-briefly, noting the scene within. She first saw the information booth, and her smile widened at the intricate sign, feeling a twinge of pride at her ability to read it. Wiping the water from her cheeks, she moved to stand under the awning of the information booth.
The smile disappeared from Nellan's face as her eyes grazed the scene that could only be the aftermath of a fire. Fire terrified the girl. Growing up and living in a forest, where many buildings were formed of the trees themselves, fire was a very rational terror. The young Achadhiel's brow furrowed momentarily, though the attitude of the people repairing the buildings strengthened her spirit. They do not appear fearful, or angry. She thought. This seemed a very matter-of-fact philosophy to Nellan. Whats done is done, one must not dwell on the thing, but only seek to reconcile it. Her Adhiel upbringing showed in her easy understanding of the concept. It is still a loss, and a sad and frightening thing. She mused. -and I'm sure the sudden rain is not helping them.
Nellan had heard of the Parrot Parade festival as she had disembarked from her ship, the news reaching the lands surrounding Roque. Colors and costumes for the festival of the following day delighted Nellan's eyes. She wished to understand more of the holiday, and decided to observe and participate to her utmost ability, or allowance. The Achadhiel desired to understand and learn the culture of her new home.
Well, I have arrived. Nellan thought, staring at the desk with the gilded information sign in front. She sighed and stepped closer to the table, making way for other travellers, politely waiting her turn to ask a question of the Men behind the desk. When she stood in front of the men, she folded her hands in front of her, and waited for acknowledgement from one man or the other. When she was granted the attention she desired, she would smile and pardon her intrusion. "I do apologize for bothering you, but I am new to Roque D' Ancourt, and I would like to find temporary lodging." Nellan paused and smiled up at the crying sky. "Could you give me any information about inns, and perhaps tell me where I might inquire in the next few days about more permanent housing?" The Achadhiel blinked the last drops from her eyes, glad at the respite from the booth's awning, and brushed her sopping hair out of her face.
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Chyril 25th, morningtide
All around her people were trying to find shelter, raising up instant protection for their wares or using their skirts to hide children under. Except those with oiled cloth, everyone was soaked within a few flickers of the unexpected torrential rains.
The Roques in the safety of their guarding boots looked dry and comfortable, one or two peeking from under their little roof to figure out where this shower had come from.
A child started crying, pulling her mother's skirts to please move forwards. Mother of course had no choice but to stay in line if she did not want to give the man in front of her a shove. Next to them a gaggle of geese started hissing at each other for no appearant reason other than the annoying rain.
People were getting restless.
"Good morningtide." The uniformed man behind the desk nodded at Nellan, then continued in not entirely flawless Adhiel: "Are you here for the Parrot Parade? If not, you do know that the Summer Palace is closed to visitors?" He eyed the young woman, trying to get an idea of what he was letting into town this time. The Roque remembered all too well what had happened that one time he had neglected to ask the right questions. It had not been a pretty sight when they'd thrown the vagrant out of town -or what had been left of him.
"Anyway, name, occupation and reason for visiting please. You can try the Dog's Home Inn for now. If you're planning on staying in our Summer City, I need to know if you can pay your own way. We don't accept vagabonds in Roque."
All around her people were trying to find shelter, raising up instant protection for their wares or using their skirts to hide children under. Except those with oiled cloth, everyone was soaked within a few flickers of the unexpected torrential rains.
The Roques in the safety of their guarding boots looked dry and comfortable, one or two peeking from under their little roof to figure out where this shower had come from.
A child started crying, pulling her mother's skirts to please move forwards. Mother of course had no choice but to stay in line if she did not want to give the man in front of her a shove. Next to them a gaggle of geese started hissing at each other for no appearant reason other than the annoying rain.
People were getting restless.
"Good morningtide." The uniformed man behind the desk nodded at Nellan, then continued in not entirely flawless Adhiel: "Are you here for the Parrot Parade? If not, you do know that the Summer Palace is closed to visitors?" He eyed the young woman, trying to get an idea of what he was letting into town this time. The Roque remembered all too well what had happened that one time he had neglected to ask the right questions. It had not been a pretty sight when they'd thrown the vagrant out of town -or what had been left of him.
"Anyway, name, occupation and reason for visiting please. You can try the Dog's Home Inn for now. If you're planning on staying in our Summer City, I need to know if you can pay your own way. We don't accept vagabonds in Roque."
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Nellan paused as she swept her wet hair out of her face, her smile breaking momentarily, however quickly she recovered. An occupation... Was the girl's only thought before words began to flow from her mouth, answering the information officer.
"Good Morningtide." Nellan attempted a response in human, to be polite while making up for her earlier forgetfulness. After the forgotten greeting, The girl continued in Adhiel.
"I am Nellan Thomas of Cairbara, and My occupation and reason for visiting are, truly, one and the same. I am to call on a shipwright for apprenticeship or employment after the festival, If I am found wanting, I shall be looking elsewhere for employ in the trade, most likely purchasing passage to another harbor for myself." Nellan added the last to indicate she was not the penniless vagabond the man insinuated. There. Nellan thought. I have not lied to the man, yet I shall not appear to be an occupation-less wanderer. The girl sighed lightly at the thought, chiding herself. Your first day and you're fudging lines...
The Achadhiel had not noticed much of the commotion about her as she had answered the Man, focusing more on her words, and less on her surroundings. She looked to her side now and saw the hissing geese, momentarily wondering how they viewed the rain.
The Dog's home inn? Nellan silently wondered at the reputation of a place so named. She did her best to stand tall and smile, despite her now drenched appearance, silently thanking Mother for her choice of pants and a tunic this day, instead of skirts that would have so staked her to the ground, she could not move.
"Good Morningtide." Nellan attempted a response in human, to be polite while making up for her earlier forgetfulness. After the forgotten greeting, The girl continued in Adhiel.
"I am Nellan Thomas of Cairbara, and My occupation and reason for visiting are, truly, one and the same. I am to call on a shipwright for apprenticeship or employment after the festival, If I am found wanting, I shall be looking elsewhere for employ in the trade, most likely purchasing passage to another harbor for myself." Nellan added the last to indicate she was not the penniless vagabond the man insinuated. There. Nellan thought. I have not lied to the man, yet I shall not appear to be an occupation-less wanderer. The girl sighed lightly at the thought, chiding herself. Your first day and you're fudging lines...
The Achadhiel had not noticed much of the commotion about her as she had answered the Man, focusing more on her words, and less on her surroundings. She looked to her side now and saw the hissing geese, momentarily wondering how they viewed the rain.
The Dog's home inn? Nellan silently wondered at the reputation of a place so named. She did her best to stand tall and smile, despite her now drenched appearance, silently thanking Mother for her choice of pants and a tunic this day, instead of skirts that would have so staked her to the ground, she could not move.
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"Ah, so this is it, eh?"
A gruff voice spoke out from behind the open gates. Her looks showed who she was: A annoying poor rouge-in-training. Kasrill appeared quite overjoyed, now that she had found the place where she will start anew: Rouge d' Aborted, or whatever it's called. Looking down at her feet, they were getting sore and blistered from the rope sandals. Kasrill, not sure of the laws of this new strange place, was unsure if it would be against the law to take them off. Leaning on the wall for a second, she took off her sandals and placed them into pouch.
~A place that won't let me be comfortable is not a place at all~
Kasrill sighed in relief, the rain massaging her and her bruises. Shifting back to standing up, Kasrill looked strangely at the guard, who was talking in a new and utterly strange language to her. The Half-elf, however, she can understand the "Good Morningtide" part, but not the rest. Kasrill walked up to the Achadhiel, tugging on Nellan's tunic (Not being very polite at all) and interrupting them in Human.
"Hey, what n' you n' him sayin'?"
A gruff voice spoke out from behind the open gates. Her looks showed who she was: A annoying poor rouge-in-training. Kasrill appeared quite overjoyed, now that she had found the place where she will start anew: Rouge d' Aborted, or whatever it's called. Looking down at her feet, they were getting sore and blistered from the rope sandals. Kasrill, not sure of the laws of this new strange place, was unsure if it would be against the law to take them off. Leaning on the wall for a second, she took off her sandals and placed them into pouch.
~A place that won't let me be comfortable is not a place at all~
Kasrill sighed in relief, the rain massaging her and her bruises. Shifting back to standing up, Kasrill looked strangely at the guard, who was talking in a new and utterly strange language to her. The Half-elf, however, she can understand the "Good Morningtide" part, but not the rest. Kasrill walked up to the Achadhiel, tugging on Nellan's tunic (Not being very polite at all) and interrupting them in Human.
"Hey, what n' you n' him sayin'?"
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Sertian shot Nellan a little smile. It was unexpected to hear her take the trouble to great him in his native language. Her accent was not half bad either. It had a little exotic tang to it.
Hoooooold it, she's a visitor, smart man, not a guest. That means customer, not pick up girl. Snap out of it!
Wiping his brown hair out of his face the man took up the quill and noted down the specifics. "Right, Nellan Thomas..m-hm....okay...shipwright...yes...festival. Good. I got it. Now, I take it this means the festival is not your first reason to come here? Please be advised to keep an eye on your purse. Ah..."
The man chuckled at seeing Nellan's expression. "Don't be fooled by the name of the inn. The owner is highly re..."
Again he got interrupted, this time by another woman stepping forward. Sertian frowned. "Hey now, back in line! We're not done yet!" He made a brusque gesture towards the rest of the waiting people. Clearly the Roque was not amused.
Hoooooold it, she's a visitor, smart man, not a guest. That means customer, not pick up girl. Snap out of it!
Wiping his brown hair out of his face the man took up the quill and noted down the specifics. "Right, Nellan Thomas..m-hm....okay...shipwright...yes...festival. Good. I got it. Now, I take it this means the festival is not your first reason to come here? Please be advised to keep an eye on your purse. Ah..."
The man chuckled at seeing Nellan's expression. "Don't be fooled by the name of the inn. The owner is highly re..."
Again he got interrupted, this time by another woman stepping forward. Sertian frowned. "Hey now, back in line! We're not done yet!" He made a brusque gesture towards the rest of the waiting people. Clearly the Roque was not amused.
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Nellan noted the man's smile, and returned it. She assumed he was only being polite to a polite traveller, having been largely left alone by the judgemental male adhiel of her home. She responded to his question and advice with small nods, the smile remaining on her face despite the rain.
Nellan's expression changed to one of curiosity as the man explained the inn- and to one of surprise as a woman of approximately equal height tugged on Nellan's shirt. Her brow furrowed as curiosity turned to confusion, and confusion to slight revulsion at the woman's appearance. As the human babbled in her native tongue, the Adhiel raised Achadhiel struggled to remain neutral to the third party. Nellan knew all too well the thorns of ostracism, and despite her upbringing of desired aesthetic perfection, tried not to be rude to the woman.
With a deep breath taken to level her thoughts, Nellan prepared to respond questioningly, when the man to whom she had been speaking seemed to burst out of his little information booth.
A temper... Nellan thought a little less of the man who was supposed to be welcoming visitors to the city. With another short glance at the woman, Nellan smiled softly, wishing to lessen the brunt of the man's words. I suppose I can't blame him, she's not the most seemly of creatures. "Please-" Nellan began haltingly in human, "Beg pardon- soon finish, yes?" Nellan tried desperately to add the proper emotions to her words, adding an upward inflection to her final word, making the statement a request.
Nellan's expression changed to one of curiosity as the man explained the inn- and to one of surprise as a woman of approximately equal height tugged on Nellan's shirt. Her brow furrowed as curiosity turned to confusion, and confusion to slight revulsion at the woman's appearance. As the human babbled in her native tongue, the Adhiel raised Achadhiel struggled to remain neutral to the third party. Nellan knew all too well the thorns of ostracism, and despite her upbringing of desired aesthetic perfection, tried not to be rude to the woman.
With a deep breath taken to level her thoughts, Nellan prepared to respond questioningly, when the man to whom she had been speaking seemed to burst out of his little information booth.
A temper... Nellan thought a little less of the man who was supposed to be welcoming visitors to the city. With another short glance at the woman, Nellan smiled softly, wishing to lessen the brunt of the man's words. I suppose I can't blame him, she's not the most seemly of creatures. "Please-" Nellan began haltingly in human, "Beg pardon- soon finish, yes?" Nellan tried desperately to add the proper emotions to her words, adding an upward inflection to her final word, making the statement a request.
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The Human grumbled, a little put off with her question ignored.
"Ok . . ."
Kasrill walked a few feet away, back to the same wall she was leaning on before. She took off her backpack, begining to search through it. Digging deeper and deeper . . .
Carefully, she pulled out her Panspipes. What better way to wait or them to finish other then practice to better serve Pan? Kasrill positioned herself and the panpipes. Putted the mouth peice into her mouth, she started blowing the best tune she can bring out.
"Ok . . ."
Kasrill walked a few feet away, back to the same wall she was leaning on before. She took off her backpack, begining to search through it. Digging deeper and deeper . . .
Carefully, she pulled out her Panspipes. What better way to wait or them to finish other then practice to better serve Pan? Kasrill positioned herself and the panpipes. Putted the mouth peice into her mouth, she started blowing the best tune she can bring out.
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Sertian shook his head. The manners of these travellers never ceased to amaze him. What was so hard about simpy awaiting one's turn?
Right at that moment commotion started back in the line.
"QUIT PUSHING!" A voice rang out, followed by jeering from surrounding people who immediately formed a little circle. Grunts and groans were coming from within as two of the visitors went fist to fist over no appearant reason.
Kasrill opened her bag in the streaming rain. Immediately her belongings turned into one big puddle of wetness. Had she been able to produce a sound from her pipes, it would have been rained away immediately. As it stood now a little bubbling sound emerged, only to be drowned out by the drops and the fighting sounds. Any musician would have been horrified to see her treat her instrument like this. Lucky for her they were all too busy watching the impromptu duel.
"Great." The Roque mumbled and nudged his collegues to go and investigate. He could not leave the paperwork, no matter how much he wanted to see what was going on. "Alright, sorry about that. It's alright. Anything else you need to know? Otherwise this is your pass. Don't loose it. If guards ask, you show it, alright?"
He handed Nellan a folded piece of parchment. If she were to study it, it held all the information she had given the guard, plus the Roque seal.
"NEXT!"
Sertian looked Kasrill over. "Right, lesson number one, young lady, you do not cut in line, no matter where you are." He regarded her sternly. He could not be that much older, yet suddenly he felt like a father to this little heap of a human.
"Now, name, occupation and reason for visiting?" He took a new sheet of parchment and looked up, waiting for her response while Nellan was free to go wherever she wanted.
Right at that moment commotion started back in the line.
"QUIT PUSHING!" A voice rang out, followed by jeering from surrounding people who immediately formed a little circle. Grunts and groans were coming from within as two of the visitors went fist to fist over no appearant reason.
Kasrill opened her bag in the streaming rain. Immediately her belongings turned into one big puddle of wetness. Had she been able to produce a sound from her pipes, it would have been rained away immediately. As it stood now a little bubbling sound emerged, only to be drowned out by the drops and the fighting sounds. Any musician would have been horrified to see her treat her instrument like this. Lucky for her they were all too busy watching the impromptu duel.
"Great." The Roque mumbled and nudged his collegues to go and investigate. He could not leave the paperwork, no matter how much he wanted to see what was going on. "Alright, sorry about that. It's alright. Anything else you need to know? Otherwise this is your pass. Don't loose it. If guards ask, you show it, alright?"
He handed Nellan a folded piece of parchment. If she were to study it, it held all the information she had given the guard, plus the Roque seal.
"NEXT!"
Sertian looked Kasrill over. "Right, lesson number one, young lady, you do not cut in line, no matter where you are." He regarded her sternly. He could not be that much older, yet suddenly he felt like a father to this little heap of a human.
"Now, name, occupation and reason for visiting?" He took a new sheet of parchment and looked up, waiting for her response while Nellan was free to go wherever she wanted.
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Kasrill was disappointed with the lack of sound coming from the panpipes. Grumbling to herself, she hastily packed her panpipes in her backpack in hopes she can see the fight before it ended. Unfortunately, she was not all that quick, and the Roque approached her just as she zips her bag shut.
She slung the now soaking backpack onto her back, shifting into many positions to get it comfortable. Out from her mouth emerged a quick cough. Kasrill shrugged it off, and answered the Roque, still as rude as ever.
"You mean cuttin' the line, right?"
She grumbled to herself. But she wasn't in the mood to get in the trouble with the law, so she just kept that snippet to herself, replying with her answers.
"Kasrill Hunam, Wantin' to live here. What's n' occupation? And why do you need ta know this?"
She slung the now soaking backpack onto her back, shifting into many positions to get it comfortable. Out from her mouth emerged a quick cough. Kasrill shrugged it off, and answered the Roque, still as rude as ever.
"You mean cuttin' the line, right?"
She grumbled to herself. But she wasn't in the mood to get in the trouble with the law, so she just kept that snippet to herself, replying with her answers.
"Kasrill Hunam, Wantin' to live here. What's n' occupation? And why do you need ta know this?"
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Behind them the fight continued. "BREAK IT UP!" Yelled one of the Roques as he ventured into the little crowd. The nasty *crunch* that followed might have been someone's nose breaking.
Kasrill's bag felt heavy on her bag. It was impossible to get more soaked than she already was, though -a small comfort.
Sertian looked up at the girl with a frown, not quite sure what to make of her. "I need to know whether to admit you into the city or not, so I advise you to cooperate, okay? Otherwise you'll be spending the day out here, cooling your heels."
He took a new piece of parchment and jotted down her name. "Occupation, in other words: what do you do to earn money? If you want to live here you gotta be able to pay your way."
"Ah fer CRYIN OUT LOUD!" The opulant man behind Kasrill threw his hands in the air. "Can you PLEASE just hurry up? My wares are soaking! Every flicker out here costs me money!"
The Roque behind the desk raised both eyebrows. "Then I suggest you keep quiet for you are keeping me from my work...loosing valuable flickers..." and continued to to wait for Kasrill's answer.
Kasrill's bag felt heavy on her bag. It was impossible to get more soaked than she already was, though -a small comfort.
Sertian looked up at the girl with a frown, not quite sure what to make of her. "I need to know whether to admit you into the city or not, so I advise you to cooperate, okay? Otherwise you'll be spending the day out here, cooling your heels."
He took a new piece of parchment and jotted down her name. "Occupation, in other words: what do you do to earn money? If you want to live here you gotta be able to pay your way."
"Ah fer CRYIN OUT LOUD!" The opulant man behind Kasrill threw his hands in the air. "Can you PLEASE just hurry up? My wares are soaking! Every flicker out here costs me money!"
The Roque behind the desk raised both eyebrows. "Then I suggest you keep quiet for you are keeping me from my work...loosing valuable flickers..." and continued to to wait for Kasrill's answer.
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"Ah. Well, I don't have one now. But I used to be a bartender back wh'n I was living 'n Nether."
Kasrill makes a little reminder to herself to add the strange new word to her vocabulary. She smiled, having learned something new today. The shouts of protest made Kasrill wince. She'd say the same if she were in his position. Possibly they can get along? But then again, her idea of a greeting is interrupting loudly, as seen before.
Kasrill makes a little reminder to herself to add the strange new word to her vocabulary. She smiled, having learned something new today. The shouts of protest made Kasrill wince. She'd say the same if she were in his position. Possibly they can get along? But then again, her idea of a greeting is interrupting loudly, as seen before.
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In the meantime people who already held a pass moved on in the almost non-existant row to the right. Whoever had organized this gate-duty at least had put some thought in how to make it as quick as possible for those who already went through the bureaucratic proceedings once.
"Bartender." Sertian noted down. "Alright. We've got a fair number of inns around the place who might be hiring afer the Red Storms. So you're from Nether's Gate, eh? Well, you'll find Roque very different in many respects. Anyway, this is how you can get to the Dog's Home inn...."
He gave the young woman some pointers how to find the inn that might just have some room for her and proceeded to hand her over her city pass.
"NEXT!"
The fat merchant behind Kasrill moved up, panting as the rain ran down his forehead in little streams. "Finally." He huffed and shot Kasrill a glance.
ooc
You are free to move into the city. You can either start in the Dog's Home Inn or start your own thread out in the streets. Enjoy!
"Bartender." Sertian noted down. "Alright. We've got a fair number of inns around the place who might be hiring afer the Red Storms. So you're from Nether's Gate, eh? Well, you'll find Roque very different in many respects. Anyway, this is how you can get to the Dog's Home inn...."
He gave the young woman some pointers how to find the inn that might just have some room for her and proceeded to hand her over her city pass.
"NEXT!"
The fat merchant behind Kasrill moved up, panting as the rain ran down his forehead in little streams. "Finally." He huffed and shot Kasrill a glance.
ooc
You are free to move into the city. You can either start in the Dog's Home Inn or start your own thread out in the streets. Enjoy!
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Chyril 26th, Morningtide
Late, late, late.
Considering that Matthew had set out for Roque d'Ancourt nearly a full week before, it was strange that he could be so very late...but then, he could not ignore his rather lethargic travel schedule. Stopping for berries...inspecting the Spring's growth...indulging his Mule in an idle day of grazing...the not-quite-a-monk could only blame himself for the tardiness of his arrival.
To make matters worse, yesterday was Rasday. Matthew had arrived within sight of the Monastery the day before, but it was too late...High Mass was already in progress...and the sheer volume of visitors to the Order was impressive (and continued on well into the night). Unable to interrupt the brothers celebrating the holiest day of the week...and embarrassed to make his appearance at such a busy moment...Matthew had chosen to spend one more sleepless night among the clover fields of the countryside, waiting until the next morningtide to stomp his way to the Gilded Gates.
Certainly, he had missed High Mass...but he would not miss the festival. He hadn't known of such a thing when he set out for Roque days and days before, but a curious serf had illuminated him regarding the Festival of the Parrot or some such a few days back while resting upon the shores of a small creek.
Where go ye, father? begged the serf, mistakenly calling Matthew father despite Matthew's distinct lack of a mitre or scapular.
Roque d'Ancourt, brother. Should I arrive 'ere Rasday, will I sing the High Mass with the brothers of the Shining Way.
The serf considered Steve the Mule for a moment, noting that it was indeed the mule's idea that the journey should pause such that he might graze upon the clover and rest upon the banks of the creek...and no reason or insistence could dissuade the animal of this intent.
Should ye start yon mule with switch, will ye arrive in due time, professed the man. Ye might sing the High Mass, and witness the Festival of the Parrot upon Lyrday to follow.
The advise was no doubt good...few knew contrary animals like the simple folk of the fields...but Matthew could not bring himself to believe that beating the simple creature into obedience would serve. In his experience, such a policy never served, be it mule or man.
And so it was that a rather contrary and head-strong mule carried a rather tardy and sleepless Matthew to the gates of Roque d'Ancourt, perhaps late but in good health. Taking up a place in line to enter, the not-quite-a-monk stifled another yawn and made every effort to straighten his wildly mussed hair before presenting himself for entry.
Late, late, late.
Considering that Matthew had set out for Roque d'Ancourt nearly a full week before, it was strange that he could be so very late...but then, he could not ignore his rather lethargic travel schedule. Stopping for berries...inspecting the Spring's growth...indulging his Mule in an idle day of grazing...the not-quite-a-monk could only blame himself for the tardiness of his arrival.
To make matters worse, yesterday was Rasday. Matthew had arrived within sight of the Monastery the day before, but it was too late...High Mass was already in progress...and the sheer volume of visitors to the Order was impressive (and continued on well into the night). Unable to interrupt the brothers celebrating the holiest day of the week...and embarrassed to make his appearance at such a busy moment...Matthew had chosen to spend one more sleepless night among the clover fields of the countryside, waiting until the next morningtide to stomp his way to the Gilded Gates.
Certainly, he had missed High Mass...but he would not miss the festival. He hadn't known of such a thing when he set out for Roque days and days before, but a curious serf had illuminated him regarding the Festival of the Parrot or some such a few days back while resting upon the shores of a small creek.
Where go ye, father? begged the serf, mistakenly calling Matthew father despite Matthew's distinct lack of a mitre or scapular.
Roque d'Ancourt, brother. Should I arrive 'ere Rasday, will I sing the High Mass with the brothers of the Shining Way.
The serf considered Steve the Mule for a moment, noting that it was indeed the mule's idea that the journey should pause such that he might graze upon the clover and rest upon the banks of the creek...and no reason or insistence could dissuade the animal of this intent.
Should ye start yon mule with switch, will ye arrive in due time, professed the man. Ye might sing the High Mass, and witness the Festival of the Parrot upon Lyrday to follow.
The advise was no doubt good...few knew contrary animals like the simple folk of the fields...but Matthew could not bring himself to believe that beating the simple creature into obedience would serve. In his experience, such a policy never served, be it mule or man.
And so it was that a rather contrary and head-strong mule carried a rather tardy and sleepless Matthew to the gates of Roque d'Ancourt, perhaps late but in good health. Taking up a place in line to enter, the not-quite-a-monk stifled another yawn and made every effort to straighten his wildly mussed hair before presenting himself for entry.
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If anything lethargic was a word probably scratched from the vocabulary of these citizens, for even the queue towards the gate was one big beehive of buzzing and flittering, people trying their utter best to get inside before the parade started. Of course there were quite a few ready excuses being used to cut in line, yet most protected their spot as if their life depended on it, nearly snarling at any that tried.
The sun was shining, was was customary on the Parrot day, so one could learn when listening to the talk around.
"But what if it rains?" A girl persisted, tugging her mother's blue skirts.
"It won't." The mother answered with a sigh.
"But what if it does?"
"I't won't. It never rains on Parrot day." The older woman pulled her shirt from the hands of the girl.
"But what if it does rain?"
"Then the birds will seek shelter, as will the people, until it dries up again." A friendly merchant offered, together with a salty stick which was immediately devoured by the child.
The mother nodded at the man with obvious gratitude.
"NEXT."
The line shuffled forwards over the well trodden path. Little mudpools to the side betrayed that somewhere during the night or the day before it had in fact rained. Yet so far the predictions seemed to hold.
"Scuse me, good father, you won't mind if I go ahead? It's my leg, you see. And my granddaughter is expecting me just beyond the gates. She's pregnant, you see." A bent over woman mumbled while passing Matthew and trying to get in line before him.
The sun was shining, was was customary on the Parrot day, so one could learn when listening to the talk around.
"But what if it rains?" A girl persisted, tugging her mother's blue skirts.
"It won't." The mother answered with a sigh.
"But what if it does?"
"I't won't. It never rains on Parrot day." The older woman pulled her shirt from the hands of the girl.
"But what if it does rain?"
"Then the birds will seek shelter, as will the people, until it dries up again." A friendly merchant offered, together with a salty stick which was immediately devoured by the child.
The mother nodded at the man with obvious gratitude.
"NEXT."
The line shuffled forwards over the well trodden path. Little mudpools to the side betrayed that somewhere during the night or the day before it had in fact rained. Yet so far the predictions seemed to hold.
"Scuse me, good father, you won't mind if I go ahead? It's my leg, you see. And my granddaughter is expecting me just beyond the gates. She's pregnant, you see." A bent over woman mumbled while passing Matthew and trying to get in line before him.
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One of the many, under-rated skills of a monk was patience. Already Matthew had taken to filling his lengthy wait in the queue with thoughts of colours and how best he might manufacture said colours. Red and blue might make a fine violet for far less coin than a dye. But can cinnabar mix well with woad? Or should I perhaps seek lapis lazuli? Perhaps this will mix well, and for far less coin than a purple pigment...
"...oh...quite..." murmured the startled priest weakly, though his surprised mumbling would fall far too quiet and come far too late to measure as any kind of real protest. Not that he would protest anyway, even were he well-prepared for such an encounter. Not only was Matthew disinclined to such a confrontation, but he could scarcely fault the old dear for her alacrity. Pregnant...grand-daughter...waits...inside? thought the priest, finding it rather strange that the younger grand-daughter would wait within while her feeble grandmother struggled just outside. Like any conundrum, it drew the monk's full attention for the remainder of his wait, giving him something new to consider as he drew nearer to the gate.
"...Scuse me, good father, you won't mind if I go ahead? It's my leg, you see. And my granddaughter is expecting me just beyond the gates. She's pregnant, you see..."
"...oh...quite..." murmured the startled priest weakly, though his surprised mumbling would fall far too quiet and come far too late to measure as any kind of real protest. Not that he would protest anyway, even were he well-prepared for such an encounter. Not only was Matthew disinclined to such a confrontation, but he could scarcely fault the old dear for her alacrity. Pregnant...grand-daughter...waits...inside? thought the priest, finding it rather strange that the younger grand-daughter would wait within while her feeble grandmother struggled just outside. Like any conundrum, it drew the monk's full attention for the remainder of his wait, giving him something new to consider as he drew nearer to the gate.
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No sooner did the good Matthew allow the woman in front of him -as if he had a choice! She already slipped in before he even answered, remarkably agile for someone with a bad leg- or the people behind him started to grumble.
"Go back to your own place, woman!" A well fed man protested, some spit flying from his lips.
"Hey! Don't be daft! Don't let her cut in line!" A young man complained, his rusty hair gleaming in the sun as he pushed Matthew in the back.
The disputed woman stayed silent, throwing her hood over her head as the ones behind her complained.
"Move it or be moved." A third threatened and actually stepped in to remove the woman by force, shoving Matthew aside -which the people behind him greedily used to try and move forward by shutting him out!
"Go back to your own place, woman!" A well fed man protested, some spit flying from his lips.
"Hey! Don't be daft! Don't let her cut in line!" A young man complained, his rusty hair gleaming in the sun as he pushed Matthew in the back.
The disputed woman stayed silent, throwing her hood over her head as the ones behind her complained.
"Move it or be moved." A third threatened and actually stepped in to remove the woman by force, shoving Matthew aside -which the people behind him greedily used to try and move forward by shutting him out!
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Despite his best efforts, Matthew simply couldn't bring himself to protest or oppose the irritated people around him. Rambling on in a far-too-quiet voice, he stammered on, "Well...I-I can't imagine how it c-could..." push "...hey! Ooo...is it...really so important? I...aaaaaAAh!" Thrust aside from the line, the monk (who had until just then forgotten about the trenches of rain water pooled at either side of the road) slipped down the small bank of mud and fell heavily within with a respectable splurt.
Sitting up, the priest wiped the grime from his face (a maneuver that really only served to smear the filthy substance around further) and inspected the line of very impatient people critically. I should not have been so hasty! Perhaps I will miss the festival yet? he considered, leaning forward to regain his footing. Assisted by his cranky and no doubt delighted mule..."You're no help, are you?"...the monk considered his ruined person critically before he would wander off to take a new place at the back of the line.
Once again, it would be colours...and with the kind of careful, desperate piety found only in saints or angels, he would try not to be so very petty as to wish for the kind of rains the likes of which God had never before seen to ruin this festival that seemed to inspire such ill manners in people. After all, that would hardly be fair to the little girl, would it not? What color is a parrot? the monk distracted himself. Is it not many colors? And with so much red...and such a vibrant red. Perhaps I must find a few lady bugs or one of those delightfully red beetles...the kermes? Or the cochineal? That would produce a red fit for a parrot...
Sitting up, the priest wiped the grime from his face (a maneuver that really only served to smear the filthy substance around further) and inspected the line of very impatient people critically. I should not have been so hasty! Perhaps I will miss the festival yet? he considered, leaning forward to regain his footing. Assisted by his cranky and no doubt delighted mule..."You're no help, are you?"...the monk considered his ruined person critically before he would wander off to take a new place at the back of the line.
Once again, it would be colours...and with the kind of careful, desperate piety found only in saints or angels, he would try not to be so very petty as to wish for the kind of rains the likes of which God had never before seen to ruin this festival that seemed to inspire such ill manners in people. After all, that would hardly be fair to the little girl, would it not? What color is a parrot? the monk distracted himself. Is it not many colors? And with so much red...and such a vibrant red. Perhaps I must find a few lady bugs or one of those delightfully red beetles...the kermes? Or the cochineal? That would produce a red fit for a parrot...
Up to now Arnholt had been standing in line with his hands in his pockets, absently whistling the tune to some obscure Oneist hymn that he'd learned as a child. In fact he'd been experiencing a remarkable sort of deja vu. About a week ago, he'd been standing in a line like this outside of World's Mouth instead. Hell, there had even been some guy with a donkey there, too.
Granted, there were also a couple of big differences between now and then. Carminello, he thought. Aylmari. And most of all, Righteous. But perhaps the greatest change had occurred within Arnholt himself. Before World's Mouth he had been just drifting through life. And now he was... A man with a mission. Arnholt's hard, ironic smile would have been hard to make out under his hood. One thing was certain: his view of the world and his place in it had been changed irrevocably. After World's Mouth, nothing would ever be the same.
The altercation up ahead stirred the hooded man from his thoughts. Only a short way behind Matthew in line, Arnholt had a pretty good view of the monk as he was sent sprawling into the ditch by the impatient crowd. "Assholes," Arnholt muttered aloud. What the hell was everyone's hurry? And couldn't they see the poor guy's habit? Even for him (a damned soul, now, pretty much by definition) it seemed in remarkably bad taste to treat a holy man that way, even if that man did serve Dominicus. The monk's god might be a shithead, but that didn't necessarily mean that the monk himself was. So as Matthew started to trudge meekly toward the back of the line, Arnholt put out an arm to halt him.
"'Scuse me, sir," he said, in his bluff, friendly fashion. "But I saw what happened up there, and that was a pretty shitty-- eh. Beg your pardon, brother. But that was a pretty lousy way for them folks to treat a man of the cloth like you. Why don't you get back in line, here, right by me?" Arnholt flashed his winning grin. "I'd call it a favor if you'd walk with me a ways."
Granted, there were also a couple of big differences between now and then. Carminello, he thought. Aylmari. And most of all, Righteous. But perhaps the greatest change had occurred within Arnholt himself. Before World's Mouth he had been just drifting through life. And now he was... A man with a mission. Arnholt's hard, ironic smile would have been hard to make out under his hood. One thing was certain: his view of the world and his place in it had been changed irrevocably. After World's Mouth, nothing would ever be the same.
The altercation up ahead stirred the hooded man from his thoughts. Only a short way behind Matthew in line, Arnholt had a pretty good view of the monk as he was sent sprawling into the ditch by the impatient crowd. "Assholes," Arnholt muttered aloud. What the hell was everyone's hurry? And couldn't they see the poor guy's habit? Even for him (a damned soul, now, pretty much by definition) it seemed in remarkably bad taste to treat a holy man that way, even if that man did serve Dominicus. The monk's god might be a shithead, but that didn't necessarily mean that the monk himself was. So as Matthew started to trudge meekly toward the back of the line, Arnholt put out an arm to halt him.
"'Scuse me, sir," he said, in his bluff, friendly fashion. "But I saw what happened up there, and that was a pretty shitty-- eh. Beg your pardon, brother. But that was a pretty lousy way for them folks to treat a man of the cloth like you. Why don't you get back in line, here, right by me?" Arnholt flashed his winning grin. "I'd call it a favor if you'd walk with me a ways."
Last edited by Arnholt on Wed Mar 12, 2008 10:26 pm, edited 1 time in total.
Startled from his thoughts on red (thoughts that, until recently, were as much meditation as they were practical), Matthew considered his benefactor carefully. "I...cannot refuse such a...request for company, sir..." offered the monk companionably, mindful that he might just offend those behind in the line (for reason hardly seemed to hold in such a crowd). "I am Matthew of Havarti, near the swamps to the West," he added. It was pointless to describe where the hamlet of Havarti was located...it had long since been abandoned...but Matthew was accustomed to the question, so he answered it in his introduction out of habit.
Brother. The gentleman (for certainly gentle manners could live in anyone) had referred to Matthew as brother, either as a friendly gesture or recognition that Matthew wore a monk's habit. It would have done the young priest some good to perhaps purchase clothes more befitting his place in the church...perhaps the red and steel of Ordo Malleus...but if he had done so, he would have been recognized for what he was...perhaps despised for it...and he could scarcely do any good then.
"May I ask your name, sir? I confess, you have salvaged me from a particularly black mood this Morningtide, and I should like to know the name of my salvation."
Brother. The gentleman (for certainly gentle manners could live in anyone) had referred to Matthew as brother, either as a friendly gesture or recognition that Matthew wore a monk's habit. It would have done the young priest some good to perhaps purchase clothes more befitting his place in the church...perhaps the red and steel of Ordo Malleus...but if he had done so, he would have been recognized for what he was...perhaps despised for it...and he could scarcely do any good then.
"May I ask your name, sir? I confess, you have salvaged me from a particularly black mood this Morningtide, and I should like to know the name of my salvation."
Waiting in the line to get in Roque d'Ancourt, Tarnuun looked back noticing another couple of dozin other people and becomes confused. He tapped the shoulder of the monk infront of him.
-" Excuse me sir, but what is going on here? I have never seen something like this happen here in Roque d'Ancourt before". While he asked the monk he took a look around to see if he can notice anything that caused all this commotion but then just took one big wift of the air and let out one big sigh thinking,"it's great to be back in Roque d'Ancourt".
While he waited for the monk to reply him or not, he searched the perimeter to see if there is any way quicker in to town, but then noticed he is just a few spaces away to be let in and waited patiently.
-" Excuse me sir, but what is going on here? I have never seen something like this happen here in Roque d'Ancourt before". While he asked the monk he took a look around to see if he can notice anything that caused all this commotion but then just took one big wift of the air and let out one big sigh thinking,"it's great to be back in Roque d'Ancourt".
While he waited for the monk to reply him or not, he searched the perimeter to see if there is any way quicker in to town, but then noticed he is just a few spaces away to be let in and waited patiently.
Last edited by Tarnuun on Thu Mar 13, 2008 4:57 pm, edited 1 time in total.
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"NEXT." The call came from the little desk up front. The two guards next to the administrator gazed out over the gathered people. One of them bent over to the other to mumble something in his ear. His collegue laughed and nodded.
Obediently the entire line shuffled forward again. There were only two people in front of Matthew and Arnholt now, and a considerably longer queue behind them.
"Owh, come on, he was out!" Came the familiar grumbling from behind Tarnuun. The fat man was once again intent on complaining about people walking in and out, making his waiting time considerably longer -or at least so it seemed to him.
Yet to confront two healthy men in front of him on his own was a little too much to risk right now, especially so close to the Roques guarding the gates.
Instead he contented himself with mumbling and grumbling.
"Mommm?" The child piped up again, skipping from one leg to the other.
"Yes dear."
"If it rains, will be go inside?"
"Yes dear."
"If it rains, will I get some lemonade?"
"Yes dear."
The girl grinned, moving in for the blow. "If it rains, can I get a dog?"
"Ye....what?" The mother turned to face the girl, folding her arms sternly. "Now don't start that again!"
The girl pouted, feeling the near victory slip out of her hands.
"NEXT!"
Appearantly there were some people familiar to Roque in the line. It saved a lot of time if the guard did not have to fill out the entire form but could just do with a look at their city pass.
"NEXT!"
The old woman had not been lying when she said she had someone waiting just inside. Hobbling to avoid using her bad leg too much she went to a blond, clearly pregnant woman standing just inside the town.
And there it was....Arnholt's turn, unless he still decided to let Matthew go first.
Obediently the entire line shuffled forward again. There were only two people in front of Matthew and Arnholt now, and a considerably longer queue behind them.
"Owh, come on, he was out!" Came the familiar grumbling from behind Tarnuun. The fat man was once again intent on complaining about people walking in and out, making his waiting time considerably longer -or at least so it seemed to him.
Yet to confront two healthy men in front of him on his own was a little too much to risk right now, especially so close to the Roques guarding the gates.
Instead he contented himself with mumbling and grumbling.
"Mommm?" The child piped up again, skipping from one leg to the other.
"Yes dear."
"If it rains, will be go inside?"
"Yes dear."
"If it rains, will I get some lemonade?"
"Yes dear."
The girl grinned, moving in for the blow. "If it rains, can I get a dog?"
"Ye....what?" The mother turned to face the girl, folding her arms sternly. "Now don't start that again!"
The girl pouted, feeling the near victory slip out of her hands.
"NEXT!"
Appearantly there were some people familiar to Roque in the line. It saved a lot of time if the guard did not have to fill out the entire form but could just do with a look at their city pass.
"NEXT!"
The old woman had not been lying when she said she had someone waiting just inside. Hobbling to avoid using her bad leg too much she went to a blond, clearly pregnant woman standing just inside the town.
And there it was....Arnholt's turn, unless he still decided to let Matthew go first.
Last edited by Syra on Thu Mar 13, 2008 5:12 pm, edited 1 time in total.
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"Bram Beacon," Arnholt replied in all honesty, as he extended a hand in greeting. "Pleased to meet ya, Brother Matthew.""May I ask your name, sir? I confess, you have salvaged me from a particularly black mood this Morningtide, and I should like to know the name of my salvation."
The irony merited a chuckle, at least, if Matthew only knew. Arnholt's name from birth had become his new assumed name; the name he had assumed to help divorce himself from his shady past was now itself too suspicious to maintain outside cultist circles. His reasoning was as simple as the situation was convoluted. Back in King's Court he was a wanted man, but the law there knew only his face, and not his name. Whereas in World's Mouth Arnholt's name was known to the inquisition now, and might possibly be remembered... but it was exceedingly unlikely that they had an accurate description of him. And of the two it was infinitely more likely that the Church would have a continued interest in discovering what had become of him.
Of course Arnholt could have just made up an entirely new name for himself. But why the hell should he bother when his real name would do?
"It is Brother Matthew, ain't it?" he asked, gesturing to the other's mud-spattered habit. "I took you as a monk of the One. Thought at first you might be from the Light of the One Monastery. But I guess you aren't," Arnholt went on thoughtfully, "if you come from a town called Havarti, and not from Roque." The hooded man smiled pleasantly, ignoring the whining of the fat fellow a few paces behind them. "Anyway, I'm headed for the monastery. Hoping to take up orders there as a matter of fact. Yes indeed... I have heard the call."
And so he had. So he had. Though it was Righteous who had called him to serve, and not Dominicus. In any case, a monastery of the One would be a fine staging ground for a bid to reestablish the daemon-goddess's cult. If all went well, the monks there would provide Arnholt with a priceless opportunity to learn the ways of the enemy and, perhaps, to gain a better understanding of the nature of daemons as well. Last but definitely not least, the monastery would make as good a place as any to spend some time in contemplation about whether he was sure he wanted to follow this path after all. Some might have said that Arnholt was mad to seriously consider worshipping a daemoness, even if she did style herself as a Goddess of Justice. Still, he was quite sane enough to have his share of misgivings about the whole idea.
At the guards at the gate bellowed for the next in line, Arnholt waved Matthew forward with a sweep of his arm and a nod of his head. "After you, brother. I insist."
"It is a pleasure to meet you, Sir Beacon," offered Matthew in response. There might have been a slight silence for a time if it hadn't been for the gentleman behind...a gentleman who's words were almost missed as more of the grumbling complaints from all in line.
Turning back to Beacon, the monk nodded no. "Yes, I'm in the service of Dominicus...but I'm not from Roque d'Ancourt. And as for you, brother...I'm afraid you're in the wrong line. The monastery is...not within the city. I believe it to be that way..." Matthew pointed off towards the fishing village nearby, where the Oneist building might be found. "I almost called upon them yestertide for Mass, of course, but I found myself..." unable to get through THAT line as well! "...detained."
When they had arrived at the gate at last, Matthew bowed graciously to Beacon and approached, uncertain whether Bram would enter or not. After all, if he truly was answering a calling, he most certainly would depart for the monastery at once...and the monk was singularly unwilling to keep anyone behind him waiting any longer than he must. "Matthew of Havarti, arrived from Knottingshall Monastery," he announced himself, uncertain of what else might be required of him.
Unwilling to seem indifferent or haughty, the monk replied. "It is the festival, brother...the Festival of the Parrot. I suspect we will not see it's like in some time."" Excuse me sir, but what is going on here? I have never seen something like this happen here in Roque d'Ancourt before".
Turning back to Beacon, the monk nodded no. "Yes, I'm in the service of Dominicus...but I'm not from Roque d'Ancourt. And as for you, brother...I'm afraid you're in the wrong line. The monastery is...not within the city. I believe it to be that way..." Matthew pointed off towards the fishing village nearby, where the Oneist building might be found. "I almost called upon them yestertide for Mass, of course, but I found myself..." unable to get through THAT line as well! "...detained."
When they had arrived at the gate at last, Matthew bowed graciously to Beacon and approached, uncertain whether Bram would enter or not. After all, if he truly was answering a calling, he most certainly would depart for the monastery at once...and the monk was singularly unwilling to keep anyone behind him waiting any longer than he must. "Matthew of Havarti, arrived from Knottingshall Monastery," he announced himself, uncertain of what else might be required of him.
"Bram'll do," Arnholt said. And then, "Say what?" His brow furrowed in consternation upon being told he was in the wrong line, but when the monk elaborated, his easy grin quickly returned. "Oh. Many thanks, brother, but I meant I'm headed for the monastery tonight. I been told there's some sort of nobles' thing going on there all day today, and that common folk like me ain't welcome 'til dusk." He grunted as the connection dawned. "Has something to do with it being a Festival day. Must be that Festival of the Parrot you mentioned, come to think. Anyway, I don't want to be offending nobody with my presence, so I figured I'd take a look around the city while I was waiting for the proper mark."
Actually, it had been damn annoying to find out that he'd arrived at the Monastery on a day when tradition held that during daylight hours the place was for nobles only. But that's the way it turned out. And of course he didn't want his arrival there to stand out in people's minds because he'd violated some sort of ridiculous Roque taboo. Anyway, here was an opportunity to get a feel for the city in advance; to maybe go places where he wouldn't be welcome as a monk. Get a better idea of where to look for the kinds of folks who might willingly join the Cult of Righteous.
Actually, it had been damn annoying to find out that he'd arrived at the Monastery on a day when tradition held that during daylight hours the place was for nobles only. But that's the way it turned out. And of course he didn't want his arrival there to stand out in people's minds because he'd violated some sort of ridiculous Roque taboo. Anyway, here was an opportunity to get a feel for the city in advance; to maybe go places where he wouldn't be welcome as a monk. Get a better idea of where to look for the kinds of folks who might willingly join the Cult of Righteous.