Knightfall
World of Kulan DM
Bactra was having a fun Festive Night.
He really was beginning to love these Onans. They were so free and unbridled, yet contained enough not to be scary. He had learned early on that during Festive Night, in the Central District, a reveler was safe as long as you didn’t hinder another reveler’s good time.
And Bactra was having a good time.
Two maids hung attentively on Bactra’s arms as he strolled down a side street towards an inn that was recommended to him by Vestin. Normally, the guard wouldn’t have confided in an outsider, but Festive Night was unusual to say the least. Bactra escorted the young ladies into the Singing Troubadour where the common room was a flurry of sound and delights. The mood was erotic without being raunchy, which suited the elven mage just fine.
Yes, Bactra was definitely having a real good time.
One of the girls whispered into his ears, as they climbed the stairs beyond the hustle and bustle of the common room. Bactra smiled and listened intently as the wine loosened the girl’s tongue. Her suggestion was, intriguing, to say the least.
“Is that legal, my dear?” Bactra laughed.
The two girls giggled as they led Bactra into a vacant room. He had little worries about any subterfuge that the two girls may have considered. His magic was a great equalizer. A quick cantrip removed the worst effects of the wine from his mind. The door closed and what went on is better left unspoken.
* * *
Dabuk was not having a fun Festive Night.
So far, he’d discovered that the Onan people rarely considered business on this night, even “gray” business. He hadn’t discovered any contacts and had been forced to seek the shelter of the rooftops in order to better map out the streets in his mind. Dabuk had an amazing memory and could remember even the most obscure details, regarding such things, as long as ogres weren’t involved.
He watched the Onan revelers with a mixture of disdain and mirth. They were definitely not like the humans of the Eastern Shores, and he had a sense that any alliance made with Onaway wouldn’t last even a decade. They were contradictory in every way. They liked order and ceremony in their day-to-day lives, yet they willing gave into chaos, and with wild abandon.
“Insanity,” Dabuk watched as a group of revelers began a torrid dance down one of the main streets of the Outer District. “I should have gone with Bren into the tangles. At least that’s a type of chaos I can understand.”
Dabuk watched as enamored couples peeled off from the main dance to find shelter in the many inns, taverns, and even stables to consummate their fiery pleasures. Onans were passionate, that Dabuk had learned even before Festive Night had begun. He had seen it in Bren and in the staff at The Creeping Vine. He’d heard in the voices of the senators, and had admired their passion, for their need of independence from the east.
He had not expected what was going on below, however. He’d suspected that Festive Night was not some posh ceremonial event, like his father had thought it would be, but he’d never expected unbridled revelry as an Onan trait. He knew his grandfather would have considered the whole evening a waste of resources, when the threat of evil humanoids and giants lurked just beyond the crumbling walls of the city-state.
“Traditions die hard, young Dabuk.” The half-elven ranger mocked the tone of one of his less flexible teachers from the guild. “For without traditions, how would we ever remember the past?”
“By learning there is more to be learned in the truths of the hear and now you horse’s ass.” That had been what Dabuk had wanted to say, in response. Instead, he had simply shrugged off the teacher’s words as “old way” thinking. “Traditions should never dictate society or force things to stay the same.”
Yet, Dabuk looked down at the Onans in their revelry and couldn’t help but reconsider his teacher’s point of view. “Maybe he wasn’t as brainless as I thought,” Dabuk mused to himself.
The half-elven ranger continued to watch from the rooftops in silence. The entire city was open to him, and yet he could not move or look away from the wreckage of society, below, as he found it all strangely fascinating.
* * *
He really was beginning to love these Onans. They were so free and unbridled, yet contained enough not to be scary. He had learned early on that during Festive Night, in the Central District, a reveler was safe as long as you didn’t hinder another reveler’s good time.
And Bactra was having a good time.
Two maids hung attentively on Bactra’s arms as he strolled down a side street towards an inn that was recommended to him by Vestin. Normally, the guard wouldn’t have confided in an outsider, but Festive Night was unusual to say the least. Bactra escorted the young ladies into the Singing Troubadour where the common room was a flurry of sound and delights. The mood was erotic without being raunchy, which suited the elven mage just fine.
Yes, Bactra was definitely having a real good time.
One of the girls whispered into his ears, as they climbed the stairs beyond the hustle and bustle of the common room. Bactra smiled and listened intently as the wine loosened the girl’s tongue. Her suggestion was, intriguing, to say the least.
“Is that legal, my dear?” Bactra laughed.
The two girls giggled as they led Bactra into a vacant room. He had little worries about any subterfuge that the two girls may have considered. His magic was a great equalizer. A quick cantrip removed the worst effects of the wine from his mind. The door closed and what went on is better left unspoken.
* * *
Dabuk was not having a fun Festive Night.
So far, he’d discovered that the Onan people rarely considered business on this night, even “gray” business. He hadn’t discovered any contacts and had been forced to seek the shelter of the rooftops in order to better map out the streets in his mind. Dabuk had an amazing memory and could remember even the most obscure details, regarding such things, as long as ogres weren’t involved.
He watched the Onan revelers with a mixture of disdain and mirth. They were definitely not like the humans of the Eastern Shores, and he had a sense that any alliance made with Onaway wouldn’t last even a decade. They were contradictory in every way. They liked order and ceremony in their day-to-day lives, yet they willing gave into chaos, and with wild abandon.
“Insanity,” Dabuk watched as a group of revelers began a torrid dance down one of the main streets of the Outer District. “I should have gone with Bren into the tangles. At least that’s a type of chaos I can understand.”
Dabuk watched as enamored couples peeled off from the main dance to find shelter in the many inns, taverns, and even stables to consummate their fiery pleasures. Onans were passionate, that Dabuk had learned even before Festive Night had begun. He had seen it in Bren and in the staff at The Creeping Vine. He’d heard in the voices of the senators, and had admired their passion, for their need of independence from the east.
He had not expected what was going on below, however. He’d suspected that Festive Night was not some posh ceremonial event, like his father had thought it would be, but he’d never expected unbridled revelry as an Onan trait. He knew his grandfather would have considered the whole evening a waste of resources, when the threat of evil humanoids and giants lurked just beyond the crumbling walls of the city-state.
“Traditions die hard, young Dabuk.” The half-elven ranger mocked the tone of one of his less flexible teachers from the guild. “For without traditions, how would we ever remember the past?”
“By learning there is more to be learned in the truths of the hear and now you horse’s ass.” That had been what Dabuk had wanted to say, in response. Instead, he had simply shrugged off the teacher’s words as “old way” thinking. “Traditions should never dictate society or force things to stay the same.”
Yet, Dabuk looked down at the Onans in their revelry and couldn’t help but reconsider his teacher’s point of view. “Maybe he wasn’t as brainless as I thought,” Dabuk mused to himself.
The half-elven ranger continued to watch from the rooftops in silence. The entire city was open to him, and yet he could not move or look away from the wreckage of society, below, as he found it all strangely fascinating.
* * *
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