03-03-2018, 03:23 AM
(This post was last modified: 03-19-2018, 11:26 AM by King Ghidorah.)
People and horses jostled past on every side, entirely occupied with their own business. The air stank of sweat and manure and the sour smell of damp straw. Above the general din of the crowd, the roar of muted voices, the creak of wagons and the clank of armor, criers hawked their wares; they advertised stable-space, smithing services, food and lodgings at only the most competitive prices. Looming over it all, on the far side of the plaza, the flattened nose of the massive rocky spur which divided the higher tiers of the city stood - a rugged, narrow granite cliff nearly a thousand feet high, casting its shadow over the square.
Pinay stalked through the evening crowd with her glaive propped against her armored shoulder. Her mind struck a precarious balance between the solar-bright urgency of her mission and the horrible sense of displacement brought on by the overpowering buzz of urban life. The scarred elf was acutely aware that she didn't belong here - or anywhere else for that matter; The only direction available to her was forward, so now that she was in the city that meant her next step was to determine where 'forward' lay.
Wending her way to the edge of the square, she clambered up a stack of wooden crates resting against the weathered limestone wall of a stable and levered herself up onto the building's ornately vaulted roof. From there, she leapt to the slate-tiled second-story roof-top of the inn next door, covering the not-inconsiderable distance with practiced ease born of centuries spent navigating forest canopies. Atop this new vantage point, unimpeded by the crush of people in the square, Pinay began to breathe again. Steadying her nerves, she surveyed her surroundings.
Beautiful stone buildings stretched away from either side of the central plaza in curved strips several blocks wide, nestled between Minas Tirith's outer fortifications and the first of the city's inner walls. With few half-timbered exceptions, the outer ring of the city seemed to be constructed entirely of austere white and grey stone blocks, rife with sculpted arches, worn columns, and vaulted porticos. It was elegant but sterile, with only the occasional green tuft of a tree protruding among the rooftops to break the monotony. The streets were wide enough, but filthy and worn, and like the square they were crowded with people of every description.
The elven survivor felt a little bit silly. The fragrant breeze rising from the streets felt cold on the sensitive skin of her bare scalp, and she wished she'd been able to scavenge a helm. She had the lay of the land, but it hadn't helped at all; There was no indication of where a person in need might rent a pegasus, which meant she'd have to find someone to ask.
Just as Pinay was about to climb down, she realized that someone was shouting; More accurately, a lot of people were shouting, but now it dawned that one of them was shouting at her.
"HEY! YOU ON THE ROOF WITH THE POLEARM! I'M TALKING TO YOU! YES, YOU! THE BALD ONE WITH THE MANKY SKIN! GET DOWN FROM THERE!"
Pinay peered into the crowd. After a moment's uncertainty, she identified a stout human in a chain-mail hauberk and a surcoat emblazoned with the local livery looking up at her. He was cupping his gauntleted hands around his mouth in order to make himself heard, and he didn't look happy.
Her first impulse was to flee across the rooftops, but the hunter in her won out over the frightened exile. A vein of coldly vicious logic emerging from the jagged edges of her consciousness, dictating a bolder course. The displaced elf waved to indicate that she'd heard him, and jumped from the roof of the inn to the stable, and from there to the ground. She landed in a shallow crouch, narrowly avoiding an unfortunate mishap involving her glaive and a passing mule.
The man who'd called to her pushed his way through the crowd as Pinay straightened up, approaching the elf face-to-face. Up close, he looked old, but robustly so, with bushy grey eyebrows and a face that broadcast habitual irritation. There was a mace in a leather thong on his belt and a battered kite-shield hanging on his back.
"What in the nine hells was that about?" he demanded.
Pinay blinked in confusion. This man was obviously the local version of a watcher, and she could tell he thought she'd done something wrong, but the elf didn't have the slightest idea what it might have been. "I'm sorry. I don't understand."
The man sighed, a complex thought rippling through the abundant lines in his forehead. "What," he said, slightly more slowly, "were you doing on top of that building?"
"I couldn't see anything through the crowd, and this is the first time I've been alone in this city," Pinay replied, leaning on the haft of her glaive. "I'd hoped that finding higher ground would make things clearer, but I've no better idea of where to go than I did before. Could you direct me to the pegasus stables?"
The guard rubbed his forehead. "Tyriel save me from heavily-armed tourists... miss, you can't lurk on rooftops overlooking Minas Tirith's most crowded square. You just can't. Now, you don't appear to have a bow on you, you don't look like a sorceror and you weren't exactly skulking, so I'm willing to take you at your word that you were just looking, but never do that again or I'll have you up before a magistrate so fast it'll make your head spin. Do you understand now?"
Self-consciously tamping down a tide of irrationally intense impatience, Pinay told him that she did.
"Good," he said, his expression softening only very slightly. "The pegasus stables are up in the fifth ward. If you need directions on the way, find a guard who looks like he's slacking. Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got a garrison I'm supposed to be yelling at."
The man paused for a moment - then added, without seeming to think about it, "Have a pleasant evening," and disappeared into the bustling crowd.
Pinay stalked through the evening crowd with her glaive propped against her armored shoulder. Her mind struck a precarious balance between the solar-bright urgency of her mission and the horrible sense of displacement brought on by the overpowering buzz of urban life. The scarred elf was acutely aware that she didn't belong here - or anywhere else for that matter; The only direction available to her was forward, so now that she was in the city that meant her next step was to determine where 'forward' lay.
Wending her way to the edge of the square, she clambered up a stack of wooden crates resting against the weathered limestone wall of a stable and levered herself up onto the building's ornately vaulted roof. From there, she leapt to the slate-tiled second-story roof-top of the inn next door, covering the not-inconsiderable distance with practiced ease born of centuries spent navigating forest canopies. Atop this new vantage point, unimpeded by the crush of people in the square, Pinay began to breathe again. Steadying her nerves, she surveyed her surroundings.
Beautiful stone buildings stretched away from either side of the central plaza in curved strips several blocks wide, nestled between Minas Tirith's outer fortifications and the first of the city's inner walls. With few half-timbered exceptions, the outer ring of the city seemed to be constructed entirely of austere white and grey stone blocks, rife with sculpted arches, worn columns, and vaulted porticos. It was elegant but sterile, with only the occasional green tuft of a tree protruding among the rooftops to break the monotony. The streets were wide enough, but filthy and worn, and like the square they were crowded with people of every description.
The elven survivor felt a little bit silly. The fragrant breeze rising from the streets felt cold on the sensitive skin of her bare scalp, and she wished she'd been able to scavenge a helm. She had the lay of the land, but it hadn't helped at all; There was no indication of where a person in need might rent a pegasus, which meant she'd have to find someone to ask.
Just as Pinay was about to climb down, she realized that someone was shouting; More accurately, a lot of people were shouting, but now it dawned that one of them was shouting at her.
"HEY! YOU ON THE ROOF WITH THE POLEARM! I'M TALKING TO YOU! YES, YOU! THE BALD ONE WITH THE MANKY SKIN! GET DOWN FROM THERE!"
Pinay peered into the crowd. After a moment's uncertainty, she identified a stout human in a chain-mail hauberk and a surcoat emblazoned with the local livery looking up at her. He was cupping his gauntleted hands around his mouth in order to make himself heard, and he didn't look happy.
Her first impulse was to flee across the rooftops, but the hunter in her won out over the frightened exile. A vein of coldly vicious logic emerging from the jagged edges of her consciousness, dictating a bolder course. The displaced elf waved to indicate that she'd heard him, and jumped from the roof of the inn to the stable, and from there to the ground. She landed in a shallow crouch, narrowly avoiding an unfortunate mishap involving her glaive and a passing mule.
The man who'd called to her pushed his way through the crowd as Pinay straightened up, approaching the elf face-to-face. Up close, he looked old, but robustly so, with bushy grey eyebrows and a face that broadcast habitual irritation. There was a mace in a leather thong on his belt and a battered kite-shield hanging on his back.
"What in the nine hells was that about?" he demanded.
Pinay blinked in confusion. This man was obviously the local version of a watcher, and she could tell he thought she'd done something wrong, but the elf didn't have the slightest idea what it might have been. "I'm sorry. I don't understand."
The man sighed, a complex thought rippling through the abundant lines in his forehead. "What," he said, slightly more slowly, "were you doing on top of that building?"
"I couldn't see anything through the crowd, and this is the first time I've been alone in this city," Pinay replied, leaning on the haft of her glaive. "I'd hoped that finding higher ground would make things clearer, but I've no better idea of where to go than I did before. Could you direct me to the pegasus stables?"
The guard rubbed his forehead. "Tyriel save me from heavily-armed tourists... miss, you can't lurk on rooftops overlooking Minas Tirith's most crowded square. You just can't. Now, you don't appear to have a bow on you, you don't look like a sorceror and you weren't exactly skulking, so I'm willing to take you at your word that you were just looking, but never do that again or I'll have you up before a magistrate so fast it'll make your head spin. Do you understand now?"
Self-consciously tamping down a tide of irrationally intense impatience, Pinay told him that she did.
"Good," he said, his expression softening only very slightly. "The pegasus stables are up in the fifth ward. If you need directions on the way, find a guard who looks like he's slacking. Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got a garrison I'm supposed to be yelling at."
The man paused for a moment - then added, without seeming to think about it, "Have a pleasant evening," and disappeared into the bustling crowd.