Cantaras: Party One

[AKA_Bait]

Piex: The City of Zoti

The pitter patter of rain upon terracotta tiles greets you upon your arrival in the outskirts of the city of Zoti. Entering from the North along the Old Maidens Way you proceed down streets lined with small dwellings. The modest homes are made primarily of clay with tiled roofs, painted walls and windows; each more garishly multihued than the next and no two the same. Some have small murals painted upon their shutters which are closed to keep out the wet currently falling about you. Each is unique and they depict images as diverse as their owners: pastoral scenes, family portraits, abstract images (or possibly finger paintings) and occasionally something better left to the imagination of pornographers. Even here upon the outskirts of the city the aura of life and vibrancy seems imbedded in the very stones beneath your feet.

As you move closer toward the heart of the city the houses grow larger and more ornate, the colors more blended and subtle, and other travelers upon the road more numerous. Intersecting lanes and byways come into the thoroughfare you are on at odd angles, the mark of a city that sprang up from cow paths and farms rather than the careful planning of those in power.

Eventually, you come upon one large straight road. A square stone pillar sticks up from the ground. Chiseled upon its surface are inscriptions identifying both Old Maidens Way and Merchant’s Bridge Road. Glancing down the intersection to your right and left you see that Merchant’s Bridge Road lives up at least to the first part of its name. Public houses, warehouses and shops line the street on both sides and vendors can be heard calling out to passersby offering their wares. To the West, at the edge of sight, the blue of the sea can be made out below the grey of the horizon.

[Deepblue706]

Meinrad makes his approach at a slow and relaxed pace. While his kukri would be tucked beneath his dark robes, under the belt, he does not attempt to hide his other weaponry, despite his concealing attire. At his left side he would hold his scimitar. On his back, stapped down, a set of javelins. And, in hand, his polearm, supporting each step he takes. He carries many scars, but most lie behind his eyes, in his mind. Aside from a few nicks, his face hasn't taken too much punishment - which not too many as experienced on the battlefield as he could often boast.

He makes his way silently, with a stern face all-the-way. His eyes only occassionally stray from his path - generally only towards those who look particularly seedy or suspicious. Nothing else, apart from finding a place to stay for the evening, seems to be of immediate concern to him.