Oriseus
11-20-06, 08:53 AM
Drinking seemed like the only escape from great deal of stress. It was the song that lulled you to sleep, having nothing to do with a maiden on the small stage. Her voice only infatuated those who had enough of that sweet, sweet ale. Oriseus hadn’t fallen to that level, yet. He was at the point he began to ask himself one question over and over again in his head.
What the hell am I doing here?
The answer was found every time he turned his head, and everywhere his eyes could stare. Amidst all the passer-bys like himself, the stench of rum filled the air, and acted like a cologne for men that repelled all the women of their desires. Oriseus just had to sitting in the midst of it, taking his time on his second mug of ale. One of his fingers began to run a track around the top of the glass, winding up going in laps to no end. Deep green eyes stared down into what was left to take before he’d pay for the drinks and possibly a room. His free arm wrapped around his chest, underneath his other limb, to hug his dark cloak to his slender, fit figure, hidden underneath all the clothing and armor. At least he had the decency to throw down his hood, and not cast himself too far away from the world he was missing out on in the heart of The Peaceful Promenade. They were all having the time of their lives, and he was just perched on a table near the fireplace, using the chair he should’ve sat in as a footstool. The mug to his right seemed to have enough attention of his to down it before the night got out of hand.
Just after he brought the remedy to his lips, and chugged back the last of his tab to get it over and done with, a straggling man was helped up onto his table by his buddies and accomplices. He must’ve been in his late twenties, sporting a full beard, and long chestnut hair to match, falling to his neckline. At first, the words that came out of his mouth were nothing more than vowels, supported by the lesser consonants like g and h. The trigger that helped Oriseus understand the language of the intoxicated was the two-handed sword that the man tried to lift from his back after tossing his empty glass to the floor. He managed to hold it up with one hand, but it wavered left and right, customers pushing into each other to get out of its path, while trying to hold in the urge to laugh at the one who was humiliating himself and causing a commotion.
“I wanna fight wit’ all of ye scallywags!” the man could shout before he was brought off of the table before it gave out under the weight of himself and his half-plate armor. His buddies raised their glasses and gave a cheer to him, leading him outside when security had threatened to approach and deal with the attention seeker. One of the many buddies backed him up by saying a little clearer to all that were in the tavern “Numbers don’t really matter! Our man Clive can take anyone on. So come one and all, if you think you’ve got it in ya!”
The invitation seemed like nothing more than a joke to Oriseus at first. Just another pedestrian attempting to woo the crowd with his ego. He shook his head to himself, having been done with the matter long before it began. But something surprised him. When this.. Clive.. was thrown out of the tavern by his friends, over half of the customers seemed overjoyed enough to rush outside and gather around the man offering the challenge. Were the staff of The Peaceful Promenade allowing such a thing to take place right infront of their doors? People could wind up hurt. Then again, the option to participate was up to them. It could be fun just to watch, let alone take part in.
The ranger hopped off the table he was sitting on, and smiled to himself as he headed out of the tavern casually. He felt like a criminal again, standing in that circle with all the others who cheered the drunk man on who had taken the best battle-ready stance he could. He was serious. It didn’t take long for temptation of a having a good time kicked in, and from all the people that had gathered, a man stepped out into the circle made in the middle of the streets of Underwood. He unsheathed the sword at his hip, and spun it idly in his hand a couple of times to get himself quickly familiar with the weight. His feet spread out a bit, getting a hold of some ground to keep him from falling so easily. Brushing his dark hair out the path of his eyes, the man gave the warrior a small, competitive smirk, and waited patiently.
The man who had accepted his challenge first was Oriseus.
“Anyone else wanna join in? We’ll make this big! Perhaps even throw in some wagers while we’re at it!” A young man said, standing behind Clive and patting him on the shoulder. “This man ain’t holding back!”
From all the shouts of the people surrounding the two fighters, it was difficult for one to even hear themselves speak. Oriseus could, only because he drowned out the voices of the spectators, and had all of his focus on his soon to be opponent.
“Good. I ain’t holding back, either.”
What the hell am I doing here?
The answer was found every time he turned his head, and everywhere his eyes could stare. Amidst all the passer-bys like himself, the stench of rum filled the air, and acted like a cologne for men that repelled all the women of their desires. Oriseus just had to sitting in the midst of it, taking his time on his second mug of ale. One of his fingers began to run a track around the top of the glass, winding up going in laps to no end. Deep green eyes stared down into what was left to take before he’d pay for the drinks and possibly a room. His free arm wrapped around his chest, underneath his other limb, to hug his dark cloak to his slender, fit figure, hidden underneath all the clothing and armor. At least he had the decency to throw down his hood, and not cast himself too far away from the world he was missing out on in the heart of The Peaceful Promenade. They were all having the time of their lives, and he was just perched on a table near the fireplace, using the chair he should’ve sat in as a footstool. The mug to his right seemed to have enough attention of his to down it before the night got out of hand.
Just after he brought the remedy to his lips, and chugged back the last of his tab to get it over and done with, a straggling man was helped up onto his table by his buddies and accomplices. He must’ve been in his late twenties, sporting a full beard, and long chestnut hair to match, falling to his neckline. At first, the words that came out of his mouth were nothing more than vowels, supported by the lesser consonants like g and h. The trigger that helped Oriseus understand the language of the intoxicated was the two-handed sword that the man tried to lift from his back after tossing his empty glass to the floor. He managed to hold it up with one hand, but it wavered left and right, customers pushing into each other to get out of its path, while trying to hold in the urge to laugh at the one who was humiliating himself and causing a commotion.
“I wanna fight wit’ all of ye scallywags!” the man could shout before he was brought off of the table before it gave out under the weight of himself and his half-plate armor. His buddies raised their glasses and gave a cheer to him, leading him outside when security had threatened to approach and deal with the attention seeker. One of the many buddies backed him up by saying a little clearer to all that were in the tavern “Numbers don’t really matter! Our man Clive can take anyone on. So come one and all, if you think you’ve got it in ya!”
The invitation seemed like nothing more than a joke to Oriseus at first. Just another pedestrian attempting to woo the crowd with his ego. He shook his head to himself, having been done with the matter long before it began. But something surprised him. When this.. Clive.. was thrown out of the tavern by his friends, over half of the customers seemed overjoyed enough to rush outside and gather around the man offering the challenge. Were the staff of The Peaceful Promenade allowing such a thing to take place right infront of their doors? People could wind up hurt. Then again, the option to participate was up to them. It could be fun just to watch, let alone take part in.
The ranger hopped off the table he was sitting on, and smiled to himself as he headed out of the tavern casually. He felt like a criminal again, standing in that circle with all the others who cheered the drunk man on who had taken the best battle-ready stance he could. He was serious. It didn’t take long for temptation of a having a good time kicked in, and from all the people that had gathered, a man stepped out into the circle made in the middle of the streets of Underwood. He unsheathed the sword at his hip, and spun it idly in his hand a couple of times to get himself quickly familiar with the weight. His feet spread out a bit, getting a hold of some ground to keep him from falling so easily. Brushing his dark hair out the path of his eyes, the man gave the warrior a small, competitive smirk, and waited patiently.
The man who had accepted his challenge first was Oriseus.
“Anyone else wanna join in? We’ll make this big! Perhaps even throw in some wagers while we’re at it!” A young man said, standing behind Clive and patting him on the shoulder. “This man ain’t holding back!”
From all the shouts of the people surrounding the two fighters, it was difficult for one to even hear themselves speak. Oriseus could, only because he drowned out the voices of the spectators, and had all of his focus on his soon to be opponent.
“Good. I ain’t holding back, either.”