KC: Bitter at the Vigilant Gates (Chyrill 23rd, MT)

[Guest]

King's Court had most certainly seen war and it had taken its toll on the defences of the town. The South and West walls had suffered severe damage. However, new stones were now beginning to replace the makeshift wooden barriers that had been hastily erected to offer some protection to the city. The gates themselves, those Vigilant Gates of heavy oak proudly displaying the shield of arms of the king, were gone, replaced by rough cut wood from the fields surrounding Kings Court. Visitors had to pass through these main gates before they might enter the splendid city of Kings Court and experience everything the city has to offer. Several city guards were busy registering anyone who entered the capital, and offering information about the city and what might be found inside. With the King only recently dead, the guards were being more cautious than usual as rumours and counter-rumours concerning who was to succeed Balthasar swept across the city.

Retrieved from "http://wiki.tazlure.nl/index.php/Vigilant_Gates"
[hr]

Obriale continued along her shabby dirt path until it merged with the greater (or perhaps once so) road that stretched onward to meet the gates. Living amongst the forests or villagers had never concerned her much. Her wardrobe or manners had never been of any complaint to the trees and she never felt comfortable enough to stay long in the little villages she trekked through.

But perhaps this was different.

She had never cared much, if at all, for politics or rumor, but this place was thick with it. She hated it, her ears twitched with irritation. Please, let them not do that to me. Don't let them whisper. I can't STAND it. Just the taste of it in the air made her feel nauseous, confused, and irritable. She just hoped, for now, that she could keep her temper in check. No bad impressions. No speaking, much, Obriale.

Her green eyes fell to the road at her feet. She suddenly felt ashamed of her outfit (however much of it there was). An old tattered dress, loose and ripped to upper-thigh length, secured by a belt around the waist. Not to mention the fact that she had her long knife there, in scabbard. Would they turn her away? The rage boiled within her before she'd even reached the gate. Ill bite them, if they do. Her boots were nice, though. Her head dipped even lower, her red-orange hair falling in front of her face as she walked, stiff and awkward.[/hr]

[Guido Cercatoro]

Sergeant Cedric Grimes was not in the best of moods as he stood guard at the Vigilant Gates. Although a weak sun was shedding some warmth as it gingerly peered out from behind a bank of clouds, a persistent, cool breeze was making the veteran soldier’s bones ache. The gruff old soldier had a stinking hangover and a throat sore from a night’s raucous singing in the Laughing King’s tavern. Moreover, he was beginning to regret his decision to visit the graveyard come tradetide with the fellow soldier he had met only the day before. An old fool you are Grimes. Fretting over lost loves and drinking yourself to an early grave.

Running one hand over his balding head, the rotund guard caught sight of Obriale as she made her way towards the gate. Ragged old dress, looks like she’s been in some trouble. But what beautiful hair, I wonder what sort of face its hiding?

Steeping forward to greet the newcomer, Grimes uttered his usual greeting. “Good morningtide. I need to know your name, the nature of your business here and your religion. He writes it all down, keeps him amused. He needs the intellectual stimulation.” The middle-aged guard pointed at a young scribe sitting at a nearby small table.

[Guest]

At the sound of "Good Morningtide!" Obriale looked up, her face still very much a mirror of her frustrated thoughs. Fierce and bright green eyes glared him down. Her eyebrows were pushed together in unamusement, and her mouth was a simple frown. This was her default look, she meant no offense by it but it just came so naturally. She checked herself and smoothed her face out.

S-sorry. Mother curse it.

She made an awkward attempt to relax herself in the presence of this gruff soldier. She even made an effort to smile. It flickered and went back to her default look of 'business as usual'. She made a little sigh. ..Work on smiling... and... growling... and glaring... and... She made up for it with a stiff curtsey.

"Mental stimulation at my expense?" She muttered to herself quietly as she let her curious eyes drift perfunctorily over the scribe. "He should bring a book. Or talk to this guard." If it was a joke it had sailed over her head.

She got down to the requirements. She didn't like this, but she had dealt with it before so she could deal again. She wondered what she could possibly say that would make them refuse her entry. "Will simply Obriale, suffice? I should like to find work here," she fibbed a little here. She was really just roaming the country, but that didn't sound quite official enough. "What does religion matter?" She asked, a natural look of austerity clouding her bright features. The question and the countenance betrayed her meaning. She rechecked herself, "I mean. I am The Mother's child, but..." Oh, something just strike me down.

[Guido Cercatoro]

The youthful looking scribe dutifully wrote down Obriale’s replies in a large leather-bound ledger that lay open on the table at which he sat. He raised a dark, bushy eyebrow as she mentioned the Mother but said nothing.

Grimes sighed and shook his head. What does religion matter? Either a fool, naive or a religious zealot. Which one I wonder?

“You will find that religion does matter here in King’s Court,” said the veteran guard sternly. “After all a good number of our soldiers have recently fought and died in a war concerning religion. There are many widows in the city, many parents whose children fell in the war. Such an attitude would not sit well with them.” The gruff, old solider paused for a few flickers before continuing in a slightly less hostile fashion. “Still, the Cardinal has said we should all be more tolerant now the war had ended and there are many of your religion here in the capital. But you would do well to remember that most follow the One and some are not tolerant of non-believers. So tread carefully.”

“So, are you looking for any specific line of work? I may be able to point you in the right direction if you let me know your plans.” Now why did you say that Grimes? Why not let her be on her way. Too much thinking about Anna. Just do your job.

[Guest]

Perhaps not a fool, but ignorance was no excuse.

Obriale did not like his body language, nor the look of the scribe. She snarled at the young man in distaste. His silly little cocked eyebrow was presumtuous to her. Her look soured even farther as he "sighed and shook his head". She put her hands on her hips out of habit and waited for him to finish. How dare he treat a simple question with such condesension! However, this did not last.

He reached the explanation soon enough and she could not keep her fierce look. "Oh," she said simply as the anger and bitterness fell from her face like a screen. There was an apology on her face now, clearly written as most her moods were- also a shade of sadness.

She dropped her head in an informal bow, "I didn't mean to disrespect those that died, sir. Or those that are still living. It's only... it seems.." She shut her mouth quickly, learning from past examples. She turned the end of her sentence into a sneeze so perhaps he would not notice. She would not explain, though, even if he did. She wanted to enter with as few complications as possible.

She made a mental note to keep her religion on a need-to-know basis only and to check herself (again and again) next time she was confronted by a stranger.

"Thank you, sir, sincerely. I can't watch my tongue properly sometimes. It... gets away from me." She chanced a look at him, furiously green eyes checked him over. Perhaps he would forgive her this trespass. "Forgive me," she added, a little weakly.

At his suggestion of a job, her ears perked up. "Actually, sir. I've not the slightest. But.. if you've got a recomendation?" Her passionate face glittered with a new mood, one of curiosity and gladness. This offer to help on his part from her heart to health and happiness.

[Guido Cercatoro]

The young scribe was clearly discomforted by the achadheil’s snarl, for he lowered his head to avoid her gaze and continued to write in his ledger. The old sergeant nodded in acknowledgment of her apology. “I am sure you intended no disrespect but this is a big, harsh city and you should bite your tongue until you know how things work and who you are talking to.”

“Well it is difficult for me to give you advice if you don’t know what you want to do.” The sergeant shrugged, mulling things over. “You can always try the taverns – the Dragon’s Den or Laughing King are the best bet. You might pick up some information about possible job opportunities – courier work and the like. But be careful, there are some low lives frequent the inns.”

“Of course, there is always the Bardic College where you can enrol as a student if you have an aptitude for the arts. They are often looking for staff, so there may be something available. Another option is shop work – you could try the Avenue of Trade. I heard that Notwen was looking for someone to deliver some of his goods.”

The soldier stood to one side to allow the achadheil to pass. “Well, unless there is anything more I can help you with, you may pass.”

(OOC: you may enter and create or post to threads on the 22nd or 23rrd PM me if you need any assistance)

[Guido Cercatoro]

Archived due to player inactitvity