• Open • The Moonshine Crawl

[Praetorum]

30th of Cylus, Arc 718

"Come one! Come all! Come on down to the Moonshine Crawl!"

The cry rang through the city, spreading like wildfire, signalling to moonshiners it was their time to, well, shine. As for those who intended to try for the title of Moontouched, this was the signal for them to start whatever preparations they might have, be it eating a hearty breakfast, or sending up a prayer to Ilaren.

Praetorum shook his head with a smile, meandering down the street. Ahead of him, Yari were setting up tables, bringing out mugs and bottles and cups. All in preparation for what he had been assured would be the party of the cycle. Come Ashan, half the city would be hungover, and the other half still drunk.

"Oi, Prae! Hurry up and help us get this thing!" Praetorum rolled his eyes, but picked up his pace. He'd intended, when he'd first heard about this festival, to sit this one out, maybe get a drink or two if the mood struck him. Unfortunately, it seemed the other members of his company had other plans. Several of the rangers had apparently been brewing some sort of fermented potasquito concoction, and had conscripted him to help haul the full barrel out of the garden they'd been brewing in.

"I cannot believe"—kneeling down, Praetorum gestured for one of the rangers to tilt the barrel so Prae could slip his hand underneath—"that you looked at a blood sucking creature and decided 'I'm going to make alcohol out of this. This is a good idea.' Alright, one, two, three." With a huff of exertion, he lifted the barrel, one hand supporting below and one wrapped around it.

"See, way I figure, they got their fill drinking from us, so why shouldn't we get our own back drinking from them? Mind the gate." Unable to see past the barrel resting against his shoulder and muzzle, Praetorum took small careful steps, trusting in the others to guide him away from anything unexpected.

"I hate that that makes sense." Praetorum sighed.
It took some maneuvering, but eventually he managed to get the barrel onto the stand they had prepared. Someone passed him a cup as they tapped the barrel. "First drink's for you, mate."

"You just want me to make sure it isn't poisonous." He grumbled, but let them fill his cup all the same. Sniffing suspiciously at the drink, he wrinkled his nose, then tossed it back.

"How'd it taste?" One of the rangers asked, tossing him a crude wood carving of a handprint; proof that he'd sampled their moonshine.

"Like an impending hangover."

[Thysbae]

Thys had only a few objectives in taking part in this...moonshine crawl. It was only to understand the culture of Yaralon, really. His inclination to drink was usually of a more refined taste and done sparingly. Adora was probably the heaviest drinker of the personalities, but she didn't see the light of day often, which would explain why she had a tendency to drink so heavily. No - Thys had every intention to be nothing more than a spectator this time around. That, and it was always entertaining to watch people make fools of themselves as they drank into oblivion. The antics here could only be worse in degree than in Ne'haer, what with the cultural differences and all that.

His chaperone had every intention in participating, which made it all the easier to slip away. He'd simply smiled at her as she downed drink after drink at their first stop, seemingly tireless where it came to the moonshine, and then she'd stumbled to the next spot, pulling him along after her. Keeping the smile around her was easy enough; she didn't seem to realize the abnormality of his personality, notably quieter and asking far fewer questions. Then again, she had been incredibly occupied at the time. And with that occupation came opportunity. He was away soon enough and found himself drawn to a particular crowd surrounding an Ithecal. He'd seen one or two here within the city more than he'd seen in Ne'haer, but seeing them each time always seemed to give him a start. The mortal born caught the tail end of an answer to a question, one that was rewarded with boisterous laughter.

Brows raised, he considered that he would look out of place without a drink in hand. It was prompted him to approach the Ithecal, tapping on the intimidating figure's arm. "Might I have a glass? Or did you intend to drink all of that yourself?" The jest was followed by a smile, the same he'd given Huyr when she'd begun her own round of drinks.

"Thys"
"Other"

[Praetorum]

The drink tasted a bit like someone had covered a towershield in potatoes, and then bashed his brains in with it. It burned pleasantly on the way down. As he'd said, he could already tell this was a drink that was going to give him a hangover later in the day; or rather, would have had the plan not been to spend the rest of the day drunk.


As the others laughed, and began to pour out their own drinks, he felt a tap at his arm; when he turned, he found himself faced with a human, fairly young, it seemed. Dark hair, delicate features... there was something very vaguely familiar about this person, but Praetorum had met a lot of people over the course of his time in Yaralon; he couldn't quite place this one. He had an accent that was very distinctively un-Yari, thought, one that Prae was almost certain he would have remembered. Strange.



Shaking the thought off, Praetorum smiled down at the human, chuckling slightly at his joke. "I don't think there's an Ithecal alive who could drink that entire barrel and survive. Maybe one of Ilaren's followers." He gestured to the others to pour out a mug of potasquito moonshine. "You're welcome to a cup, of course. It kicks like an ox, though, so mind that." Someone passed a mug into his hand, and he passed it on to the human.



"I don't believe we've met before. I'm Praetorum, and these fine folk—" he gestured at the rangers behind him "—are my fellow mercenaries in the Helping Hand. Are you new to Yaralon?" He paused for a moment, uncertain if that was a faux pas. He was also still getting the hang of this strange city's customs. "It's just that I can still understand when you speak, unlike with this lot." He elbowed the nearest ranger lightly, grinning. Rolling her eyes, she shoved him back, and passed yet another mug into his hand.


"Just for that, you get another one."

[Mauro]

30th Cylus 719.

Someone was always hunted in Yaralon.

Mauro kept his head down and shouldered his way through the drunken masses whilst trying his best not to step on anyone’s toes (even though Foyle had insisted he couldn’t be harmed in the city, he didn’t want to test any Yari’s hot temper). Swallowing down the acrid taste rising to his throat he felt a thick vein pulse incessantly near his throat. Just have to keep going. Just have to lose them… he reminded himself. I’m just another speck in the crowd… One street melded into another and another with each turn he took, clutching the book he carried tightly to his chest. Gwenum would be livid once she found out he’d taken it off her shelf, but he just had to know what was in it.

The sea of legs and bodies thinned and a bout of fresh air greeted him. He wasn’t quite sure what kind of party was going on in town (and frankly it seemed like there was some party or another taking place every trial), but the people of Yaralon had come out in droves to celebrate in their own violent way. Having escaped the heart of the feast, Mauro searched the streets for a quiet place to sit. Somewhere not too far removed from the main streets without being too plainly visible. Despite Foyle’s promise that children were safe in Yaralon, his better instincts advised against tucking himself away in a dingy alley. A rooftop might be a good place, if only it weren’t so hard to get up. Besides, he imagined it wouldn’t be hard to spot him from below and might incidentally attract attention rather than avoid it.

Sauntering ahead, his gaze eventually landed on a barrel-loaded wagon at the side of the road at an angle to the wall of a smithee. Several men and one of the lizard-kind were too engrossed in setting up a small stand (in hopes of selling stray drunks on their way home a final drink, he imagined) to notice him plonking down at the side of the wagon facing away from them and resting his back against one of the wheels.

When he was certain no one was going to bother him, he opened the book with a trembling hand and started to read…

~

Mauro wrinkled his nose. He’d barely made it to chapter four of his book when the stench of something foul hit his nose, followed suit by loud, gruff voices. Annoyed, he shot a glance under the wagon and spotted several pairs of legs (not all of them human) at the backside of the wagon. He tried to ignore them, but they spoke so loudly that he couldn’t help but notice the stupidity of what was being said. There was the sound of a tap being unscrewed, then the sloshing of liquid, followed by a foul, sharp scent and a bout of heavy laughter before a new voice joined in. The accent was unmistakably foreign as it wasn’t anywhere near as grating on the ears as the usual Yari groveling and Mauro gave up trying to read another word, focusing instead on the conversation.

He snorted at the irony of a group called the Helping Hand aiding a stranger into killing himself with a drink that -if the lizard was to be believed- kicked like an ox. Perhaps an Ithecal could take it, but a regular person? He closed his book then, stood up and peered straight over the small mountain of barrels on the wagon. “Excuse me, I wouldn’t drink that,” remarked Mauro. He lodged a foot between one of the wheel spokes and pushed up to stand a little taller. He sent an almost chiding look at the soft, round face of the young man who’d been so bold to ask a drink from an Ithecal before his eyes lingered on the lizard for a trill. He frowned then and disappeared for a moment, only to crawl under the wagon, re-emerge at their side with the book clasped under his arm. He would’ve taken off without another word in search of a new, quiet place to read if his back hadn’t been scorched by several burning eyes. Turning in place, he sighed and elaborated. “Have none of you ever read Ezekhiel Gwayne’s Practical Guide to Alchemy and Metallurgy? Granted, he goes off on very long analogies at times, but I find his work is rather comprehensive on the whole.”

They still didn’t seem to get it. He rolled his eyes. “Look, alcohol may have some medicinal use or serve as a cleaning agent, but it’s basically poison.” He squinted at the rangers. “Never mind if you make it from some kind of poisonous leech.” Granted, that last part was improvised, but even with his limited experience under Gwenum's tutelage he felt confident enough to say it.

[Thysbae]

Kicks like an ox. He’d have a sip if that were the case. His eyes narrowed down at the cup, taking it in. For the Ithecal it would be no small thing to have a single mug. “Thysbae, but please - call me Thys.” His smile widened slightly, head cocked to the side. “And yes, I am new to Yaralon. Last cycle.” Divulging the details of his arrival would be trivial and pointless at the moment, though he suspected that if Praetorum was also new to this city, he must have experienced the same thing.

A laugh preceded his attempt at taking a sip - interrupted by a new voice. Higher than his own, the owner of it manifested from under the wagon. The stature matched the voice as a child walked up to the group of adults to give them a lecture. Small was he - in the same way that Thysbae had been small when he was younger - but he carried a large book with him. Had he been hiding under there to read?

“If common sense is correct, if it cleanses the outside, would it not cleanse the inside? And I thought there were different kinds of alcohol?” Humoring a child in some sort of debate was not the point of this. What was the point is that the child was attempting to assert himself as smarter than those around him. He didn’t look like a street urchin - but still.

The mortal born observed the child for a moment before taking a purposeful sip of the drank handed to him. It burned. Brows furrowed, he let loose a chuckle as he stared down at the drink. “That does have a kick to it.” His attention returned to the child, stepping forward.

“Now, young sir, what’s someone learned as yourself doing hiding under a wagon? Or did you not know the dangers of that?”


"Thys"
"Other"

[Praetorum]

His second drink, Praetorum was smart enough to sip at instead of down, despite the lighthearted ribbing of his fellows. "A pleasure to meet you, Thys. I'm in the same boat;  only arrived this past Zi'da." Though he couldn't help but wonder, how had an unarmed, unarmored man made it nearly two seasons in Yaralon? Well, perhaps he had a weapon stashed away somewhere. Or perhaps he was a mage of some sort.  



Praetorum's musings were interrupted by another voice, one he hadn't heard before. A small head peaked up over the barrels on a nearby wagon, and Prae watched in bemusement as a child scrambled out from underneath it, a book tucked neatly under his arm, to lecture them on the dangers of drinking alcohol; he nearly laughed when Thys responded. 



"I'm not familiar with that book," Prae admitted, grinning slightly, "but I believe the Potasquito is slightly venomous, not poisonous."


One of the other rangers nodded sagely. "Definite not poisonous. Actually, it's very delicious, especially slow roasted and slathered with butter."



"I like them better mashed." Someone else mused, and Prae waved them silent. 


"Hush, you lot. You can fantasize about food later." He stepped closer to the boy, kneeling so he was closer to eye level with him. He didn't speak often with human children, but he was fairly certain the boy wouldn't want to be craning his neck to talk to him. He extended a hand to the boy. "I'm sure you heard our names while you were reading, but in case you didn't, I'm Praetorum, and this is Thys. What's yours?"

[Mauro]

Mauro balked at Thys's common sense. The young man might be smartly dressed but the same could not be said of his inebriated intellect. "It'll empty your stomach through your mouth, if that's what you mean," huffed Mauro. He'd seen it demonstrated countless times by his uncle Dundry who so relished in spraying the expensive family carpets with acidic vomit. Sometimes Mauro even thought he threw up on purpose just so he could indulge in more food and wine and impress his bribed friends with the girth of his greed. "I wasn't hiding," said Mauro. Half-truths made the best lies. He'd been hiding the book, not himself, but they didn't need to know that.

The Ithecal extended a hand the size of his skull and Mauro eyed it wearily, none to keen to make friends with people laboring under the illusion that incessant drinking was something to be proud of...

... and neither did he want such people as his enemies. With scarcely veiled reluctance he accepted the hand, shook it like a dead fish, then retreated his tender digits as though he'd touched a leper. "Mauro," he mumbled in response to the Ithecal's question. He couldn't recall ever having met one of the lizard-kind in the flesh before, he'd surely have remembered someone so uncommonly large, but the name seemed odd even for an Ithecal. Praetorum... "Does your name mean something special to your people?" Sometimes names carried deep meanings, though he struggled to imagine what the special meaning behind Thys's name might be. "I think I read somewhere- that there's some language in which Prae means before and thorum means time, or rather the passing of time to be precise. But that should mean that you're.... before the passing of time? I'm not sure if that's what your parents intended..."

A rush of heat came to his face. He'd said to much. What did these people care about the meaning of names anyway? "I'm sorry, I should probably leave," fumbled Mauro.