Day 2 - Recovering

[Corporal Light]

Two more hours later

Minas Tirith.... holy shit..

Ballad stood in front of the large gate that allowed passage into the city of Minas Tirith, a stupefied gleam radiating from his yellow, semi-emotionless eyes. He had seen the capital from a fair distance away, but he hadn't paid too much attention to it. Too focused on getting to the Colosseum. But now that he got a good look, he was simply taken aback from what was placed in front of his eye sockets. The entire thing was made almost exclusively of white, shiny walls that stood brilliantly among the dry plains that surround it (which weren't so dry, considering the rain storm that had occurred over a few hours ago.) The city was composed of circular... walls, from what Ballad could tell, with the bulwarks getting narrower and narrower as one drew their eyes to the summit of Minas Tirith, finishing with a giant cathedral-like structure on the very top of the mountain. Oh, how I regret not taking the time to stare at this... wonderful thing.. just.. fucking beautiful..

To a normal person, this fortress city would be a god-send after braving the thunderstorm that had ravaged the grasslands just a short while ago. But Ballad wasn't normal, that much was pretty damn obvious. The wooden portcullis that stood in front of him was an unnatural object of particularly wealthy men, and it gave off an unwelcoming vibe. Or maybe that vibe was coming from the several chain-mail clad guards with crossbows shouting down at him from the ramparts above the portcullis, safe from any retaliation. It could also be because of the oddly blackened walls encircling Ballad as he took several steps towards the heavily protected entrance, stopping on command of the guards above. Rolling his eyes, he uneasily slid himself backwards a few feet, seeing the portcullis slink up into some random carved out crevice within the walls before a gigantic hunk of wood began to fall towards him, landing with an ear-splitting crack against the dusty road.

Looking back up to the guards, he cautiously places his left foot down on the timber platform, grimacing as it gives off a nice sounding creak. Averting his eyes from the judging eyes shaking their heads from the heavens, he slowly walks forward, heading into the city.
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Fucking A, this place is jam-packed. I guess the storm really did keep most of the civilians from going anywhere.

The first terrace he was in (which he believed didn't actually have a name, or if it did it dodged his sight completely,) looked to Ballad like the place where the majority of the city lived. You know, how some cities are so fucking huge they can fit entire states, yet turns into a literal ghost town past the slums and all the other areas far away from the wealthy? It felt like one of those places. Hundreds of thousands of people floundered the cobblestone streets, with Ballad desperately trying to push through. Most of them were wearing rather colorful clothes, usually a combination of purple and yellow. Weren't those the same colors most of the people at the Carnival were wearing?

Brushing the thought out of his mind for a few moments, Ballad continued forcing himself through the humongous herds, his head hanging high up as he searched for a sign or a door or fucking anything that could tell him where the "Barley-Shoppe" was. Instead, all he was finding were buildings of rock, plenty of pristine, unpigmented stores, and hordes of people. Fucking lord, how are there so many people here?! Can't they just go outside this place so it'd be fucking easier on me to FIND this place?!! The Carnival didn't have THIS many people! Or maybe it did, but I at least could move around a bunch and get some fresh air, for fuck's sake!

Ballad's eyes opened as wide as they conceivably could as he continued his hunt, his breath growing irregular with each passing moment, to the point where he was loudly panting and an uncomfortable compression forming underneath his chest. And he STILL couldn't find the place he needed to find! Sweat flowed down his forehead, his scarf absorbing the water before his gloved hand wiped it dry. His eyes, to a general onlooker, were forming a glassy-eyed texture, and didn't appear to blink. The general onlooker, unfortunately, was either too polite or too stupid to say anything about it, leaving Ballad to wander the cramped streets.

Eventually, just when Ballad felt like passing out for the millionth time that day, he found it. Just a few feet away hung a grey, pentagonal sign with brown wood along the edges that was connected to a pole against a cobblestone wall. On the sign read "The Barley-Shoppe" along with a hand-crafted image of a mug and wheat. Ballad leaned forward towards the sign, his disoriented state slowly forming into one of confusion as he gazed at the wheat. Shaking his head, he turned to his left, pushing his left hand forward towards the slightly open door.
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Ballad swallowed in a deep breath as he scanned the "Barley-Shoppe." It was another bar, just like the one back in that village, just a hell of a lot more people in it. There were tables organized along the middle of the floor, most of them occupied by customers. These customers appeared to have three different states to them: One, be drunk and sleep on, or near a table. Two, play some weird card game on one of these tables. Three, stand next to or sit on the bar stools provided by the bartender at the very back of the "Barley-Shoppe." That's where he was told to go.

Staying near the edges of the bar, he slowly slithered his way towards the bartender. He was fairly busy serving mugs of alcohol to his consumers, not that Ballad could fully recognize what they were anyway. This man also looked way more different from the other bartender. Unlike the first one, this bartender was tall and lean, and his entire body looked as smooth as silk. His torso was covered in a white apron (what is with this city and white, seriously), which coated a brown shirt underneath.

Ballad slipped into the line of patrons encircling the bar table, placing his hands on top of it. Knocking his right hand against the wood loudly, he finally gets the bartenders attention after purposefully knocking over a nearby mug full of beer, which he passed off nonchalantly as an accident.

"Now, with that out of the way, can I have a drink?" said Ballad, meeting eye contact with the man.

"Right... what drink? And under who's name?" replied the barkeep, slipping a notepad into his hands.

"Uh... the apple cider, I guess... Percival La'Seer."

The barkeeper stops as soon as Ballad finishes his sentence, his writing utensil snapping thanks to the sudden break of movement. Frowning, he peers back up to Ballad, seeing the bored expression on his face. Setting the notepad down, he cocks forward, close enough so that Ballad could hear, and whispers "Table B3," before inclining back to his original position, turning to a few guys to Ballad's right who were screwing around with a mug.

Table B3... thought Ballad, drifting away from the bar table. It wasn't too hard to find, considering it was one of the middle tables. Signalling itself to Ballad was a grey card with bold, black letters saying "B3" on it. Sitting on the table was another man. This man easily stood out among his others just from the attire he wore. He wore metal armor, specifically around his torso, and his back was covered in what appeared to be a red cape, with the edges having golden colored small stringy appendages connected to them. His feet, which were covered in steel boots, were kicked up against the desk in front of him, and he let off a smile whenever he sipped from his drink. His face had a finely trimmed brown goatee, as well as a showy scar across his left eye.

Ballad stood a distance away from the table, his mind going into a long debate on whether this was a good idea. This debate became a battle, and a long, bloody one where only one side could really stand as the other disintegrated into bone powder. Should I really be doing this? I have better things to be doing then following messages sent by people I don't know at fucking all. Then again, I could be trying to hunt down that fucker, and I'm not sure I'm fully prepare for that.

Closing his eyes, his self decides on a decision. Strutting forward in his most confident display possible (which wasn't even that hard), he plops himself on the desk, waiting for the man to acknowledge his presence.