Welcome to Gaia! ::

The day's hunting had been sparse. The weather and a slight wariness at the recent disappearances had made Lytka reluctant to go too deep into the wood of late -- but the small game she had been taking in from her snares on the outskirts of the forest would not be enough to keep both her and her mother in food and clothing for much longer.

Still, there had been enough gold left over from selling today's game for the huntress to afford herself the small luxury of going out for a drink. Or two. Or five. The coin clinked in her pockets as she made her way to one of the pubs she was familiar with. Lytka wasn't exactly what one would call social -- she tended to start arguments more often than was good for making any lasting friends -- but she still enjoyed company every now and again. And besides, the recent disappearances had been...unsettling. Perhaps she would run into one of her fellow hunter acquaintances. If anyone would know more about it, they would.

Turning the corner, Lytka came upon a crowd gathered around a man raving about the very subject that had been on her mind -- although she couldn't say she quite agreed with his assumptions. Her brows dropped even more than usual in annoyance as she scowled. 'Poaching' from the spirits of the wood...what superstitious nonsense. As if he didn't eat the meat and wear the furs that hunters like her brought back. He'd probably never even stepped past the safety of the wall.

As she neared the edge of the crowd, a familiar shock of white hair caught her eye. Stepping nearer, she scrunched up her nose at the smell of alcohol that seemed to emanate from her fellow hunter's very pores. "How are you possibly this drunk this early, Ever?" she quipped, coming up beside him. "Did you even leave the city today? Not all of us have so much money to piss away in drink the way you do." Her tone, though still harsh, was a bit more congenial than that she used for most of her interactions. But she had met Ever before and had found him companionable enough, though the man clearly had his vices -- but he was open about them and didn't seem to see the need to censor himself for propriety's sake. Lytka liked that in a man. Or in anyone, really.

...Except, of course, for this fool who was spewing his idiotic drivel at the head of this crowd. She cast him her most soul-withering glare to no avail. "What's this git on about?" she growled. "I'd like to see him thrown out into the wood and see how he fares it."

Zac frowned slightly as he watched the ravings; he heard the little banter and thought he recognized the puff of white hair like snow. “It doesn’t though, it doesn’t work even if if he tried it. What…we send away all the hunters and start eating all the farm animals and riding beasts? Then when we run out of those we send out NEW hunters till –they- get touched by the woods, possibly an angrier woods than it is now to make people simply –vanish.” He shook his head unsure how to feel about any of it. “At least… that’s what I think of it.”
Even his fine coat couldn’t seem to keep him warm because he shivered at some idea that crawled down the back of his neck.

There were enough people that didn't like him anyway -- and for good reasons as well as bad -- that Ever really needed to learn to watch his mouth. His absences from the city were probably all that kept him out of trouble. Enough time spent retreating into the woods helped people forget about the debauchery, about the snide comment regarding their self-sufficiency or their personality or their mother. It was time away, perhaps, that made him tolerable.

And moments like this were why he frequently headed back out to hunt with a spring in his step, retreating from unpleasant expressions. Or worse.

He didn't react with Zac's thoughtful, calm explanation. This was both good and bad. It meant, for example, that he could be heard over the crowd, his tone ringing and sarcastic and blurry with drink, whereas the idle comments of someone on the outskirts was less likely to catch the attention of an angry crowd.

To someone's shouted insult, Ever answered in kind -- a step in and an insulting gesture, his own reply lost in a bubble of excitement out of the crowd. There were enough people that the tension turned to fighting without anyone being able to point a finger at who, exactly, had instigated it. Someone threw a stone. Someone threw a punch.

Within moments, small pockets of arguments had exploded into violence, with the rants of the crazy man on his pedestal serving as a soundtrack to the chaos.

And the outcry rang down the street. Things had gotten loud now; with the sudden explosion of violence the crowd became loud; shouts and screams and yells of pain and surprise echoed off of the buildings and carried down the street for half a block. People were beginning to slam their doors and close their shudders, and a slab of snow fell off of a roof with a whuff sound, creating a pile that nearly buried Ayle. It was only because he was fairly quick on his feet that he avoided being knocked over.

He would approach with caution, pulling his hood up -- the long platinum braid made him stand out in a crowd, and he didn't quite want to be noticed, yet, or mixed up in all of this mess -- and from out beneath the hood came a long sigh of something like frustration and resignation.

Of course it was Ever. Of course Ever was involved, and the coins Ayle had just paid him had something to do with it, no doubt. Those coins had turned into copious amounts of alcohol.

He slipped up to the edges of the fray, keeping himself well away from the pockets of violence leaking out; one hand had settled to the hilt of the sword at his hip, a sturdy thing made of iron. But he would watch for as long as he could.

“NEVER a cloak when you need them.” Hissed Zachariah through his teeth, shaking his head as the fighting started. Then again it was already reaching a pitch where they’d need at least half a dozen good Sword to settle this mob. It didn’t take long for someone with a grudge against his ‘pretty coat’ to grab a double fist full of hood and try and yank him off his feet. Thank god that it had been so well put together else he might have lost the hood rather than his dignity.
He swung his arm to try and loose himself and caught someone in the ribs; they smelled rather like Surfoot and caves. It was an odd combination and rather stomach turning. He got his feet under him just enough to shove backwards into the man sending them both crashing down, and thank heaven he landed on top for the time being.

“GET off!” He demanded despite that, “Get off, LET me go!”

He stared at her wide eyed for a moment, mouth a small ‘o’ of trying to rationalize that no, you were not trying to hit him. “Thank you.” He said breathlessly. “Thank you.” He repeated as he followed her, trying to help her fend off the grabbing hands that reached for them in blind fury and frenzy.

“we should call the swords, someone, they must know already though…this is madness.” He said shakily eyes drifting back, searching for the familiar shock of white hair in the press of the crowd. Anything familiar was welcome because even his savior felt like an uncertain thing. Maybe all she wanted was to pin him somewhere and have vengeance for the rank his birth gave him. That was the kind of thing that was murmured around drunken dinner tables perhaps, but it had just enough kernel of truth to it to make him uneasy.

A fist swung out and clipped Ayle in the ear; it knocked his hood back, and for a moment he had the pleasure of looking at a peasant's angry face turn to surprise when they realized who he was: they'd just slugged the weaponsmith right in the ear. A moment later that apparently did not matter to them anymore; Ayle had to duck another hastily-thrown punch, one that had aimed for his teeth. He sidestepped, latched on the man's wrist, and threw him heavily down into the snow, hoping that the sudden shock of impact, and the cold, would take the fight out of him. At least momentarily.

A path opened up before him as a young woman helped what looked like a noble out of the crowd: Ayle saw and opportunity and took it, following them towards the alleyway. He was armed, could have done the Swords' work himself, but it didn't seem as though the Swords would look kindly on anyone with a drawn weapon when they did arrive. Along the way he glanced over his shoulder to try and get a glimpse of Ever, the damned fool.