Tower of Ibica [Altamira]

[Gracie]

Vahraine grumbled to herself, irritated at her fiery attitude. It always got her in way too deep. She shuffled her feet as she walked down the run-down market street on the edge of Ibica, a port town on the shore’s of a kingdom whose name Vahraine didn’t even bother to discover.

Godammit, she thought. It’s just like me to agree to something stupid like that.

It had been a bad night for her, even before she'd gotten herself in trouble. Aimlessly wandering and searching for self-purpose was not necessarily a prime tactic, and it provided plenty of frustration. In search of some good old ale to stifle her frustration, she ended up at the Titan’s Fist, a tavern that had seemed quite homey at first. It turned out to be a mistake.

An obnoxious young man, approximately her own age, was disrupting the entire atmosphere. He seemed to be already sated with plenty of beer, which was probably the entire problem. Dugan, which turned out to be his name, had stirred up a storm as soon as he set eyes upon her.

“Whoa there!” he had shouted, chuckling unevenly. She remembered him stand up from his barstool and lope over towards her, moments before she dropped quite the rude comment. Disgusting smells of horse turd, days without washing, beer-breath, and grime practically made him a present of nasty all wrapped up and ready to go. So, she said exactly what came to her mind: “You smell like shit.”

His friends, who weren’t much better than Dugan, burst out in laughter and shoved him. “Ooh, Dugan!” they hooted. They attempted quite a few times to explain that he had just been completely and utterly burned, but their laughter nearly made that impossible. Nevertheless, it was passively understood.

Moments later, Dugan’s half-angry half-retarded drunk self had shut his friends up with a few sloppy punches. He released a growl…or at least, she thought he meant it to be a growl. It was really an unintelligible groan. “’The hell’s yur problim?” His words pretty much fell out of his mouth. Vahraine simply shrugged, and took a swig of her own drink. “You.”

Dugan took a swipe at her head with his arm, which looked like a chicken’s wing trying to fly. She swiftly ducked her head and kneed him hard, right where it would hurt the most. There wasn’t any point in not laughing, so she laughed. After all, it was pretty funny. He doubled over.

“Imma…Imma keeeel you!” he roared, and jumped on her. Vahraine definitely wasn’t expecting that. The tables had turned on her at that point. She was thrown to the ground and his friends began to jump on her and kick her, while Dugan hit at her head. She yelped helplessly, hating herself for letting these fools do this to her. They didn’t let up until she managed to scramble backwards against a wall. Spectators, who were of course more drunken males, laughed and hooted and cheered on Dugan’s gang.

“Get her, that’s right! A girl can’t do nuttin’ against you! Worthless piece o’ crap, she is,” cheered a tubby old fat man from the back. She did her best to ignore them, but she wasn’t necessarily skilled at dealing with bruises to her ego.

Growling and shoving Dugan backwards, Vahraine tried to stomp on his foot, but missed. More bruises.

“No way in hell am I weaker than you.”

Dugan giggled. It was very strange.

“Like hell you are,” he said with his high pitched laugh, and swung a punch. This time, it didn’t miss, and hit her square on the jaw.

She gritted her teeth and held back the pain.

“Oh yeah? Make me do anything, anything! I’ll prove it to you; I’ll do something you could never do!”

Dugan laughed. “Hmm!” And then, his little gang chimed in. “The tower, the tower!” Laughter erupted once again. Vahraine was confused…what tower?

The same man from the peanut gallery in the back chimed in. “They want you to climb the tower, on the eastern edge!”

“Can’t get caught,” chimed in another.

“Bring proof from the top. A flag,” continued yet another.

“Fine!” spat Vahraine, pushing her way through the crowd. “You be here, each one of you, tomorrow at the same time. I’ll have your damn flag.” And with that, she stormed out and slammed the door to the Titan’s Fist, with Dugan laughing in her dust.

She groaned again. How the helldid I let that happen?

The tower was in her vision now. It was tall, maybe three or four stories high. Standing outside the entrance were two guards, standing with intense stoicism. Their armor was plated and looked brand new. She could see at least two more men standing at the top, but she couldn’t necessarily make out if they were both guards. But what did it matter? Because of the bar’s reaction, she guessed that this task really was going to be virtually impossible.

Wonderful. Just wonderful.

[Altamira]

Had Prince Hunter Merridale been a suspicious man, he might have realized that Cadenza had sent him on this little excursion for no purpose other than to get him out of her hair. But because he wasn't, he was out here on this moor, and the wind was nipping at his ears and freezing him from the inside out in his armor, like a can of sardines. His knees rattled.

Had Prince Hunter Merridale been a shrewd man, he might have noticed that this old tower was more bare than a fig tree in an avalanche, and that the two guards stationed outside wore the look of guards everywhere; "I'm here because I was ordered to be." Men guarding something worth guarding always looked more nervous--there was something to lose in that situation. But because he wasn't, when he got to the top days or hours from now, as Cadenza had instructed him to, he'd be surprised to find that there was nothing more than a useless flag flapping in the breeze.

Had Prince Hunter Merridale been a selfish man, he would have taken his day of peace from the Choras campaigns to soak his feet, sip some tea, and read a good book. But because he wasn't, he was hiking now, to the amused looks of strangers, through the soggy fields towards this stone tower that looked like a great minaret bristling up from the ground from some castle under the earth. And with him, he had brought (much to the even greater amusement of the strangers, who always enjoyed a good piece of street theater, like watching some poor half-wit marching to a grueling ordeal unawares) nothing but a few days' rations, a spear, a grappling hook, and a slingshot to aid him.

To make matters even more pathetic, he hadn't even the faintest idea what he was endeavoring to find, save for that it was at the very top of the structure, and he'd "know it when he saw it". But, for a man like Hunter, this was enough. He was earnest, caring, and generous--and always tried to please. He really, honestly cared about making others happy, and for the grieving Lady Madrigal, he'd do whatever was in his power to make wishes become a reality. No amount of discomfort or difficulty would daunt him. It wasn't just chivalry that came into play here--it was just a heart so golden that, like the metal itself, it was easily manipulated to whatever end you wanted. It was an innocence that thought that everyone, deep down, was good--or that at least wanted to believe that.

It was because of this that Cadenza Madrigal, (who was a suspicious, shrewd, and selfish woman, as she often admitted to herself) almost felt guilty as she soaked her feet, sipped tea, and enjoyed a good book. Almost. But, as she told herself, you can only tolerate so many "but milady, _____!"s while trying to sift through paperwork, deal with assistants and other teachers, and educate thick-headed students before something goes snap! and you want to send your princely pest to some tower far far away.