'I'll let you know now son, I get it.' his eyes narrowed. 'I'm sure you're from one of the families he's run into the ground recently.' The tall guard shook his head gently. The intruder tried vainly to defend himself. 'One of the guests…?' He tilted his head to the side, running his gaze up and down his strange appearance.

'…Who're you after?' he asked conversationally, taking a step forward. The guard clicked his tongue, his hand falling to the pommel of his sword while he continued to hold the nervous young man's eyes. 'Er… My pack…? Well uh… that is…' he trailed off helplessly. 'Where's your travel pack?' the guard asked deliberately while steadily holding the intruder's uncertain gaze. 'Not so fast.' The young man froze as the taller of the two guards stepped forward with a dead serious look on his face. 'So yeah… If you guys could just give me directions to the capital, I'll just-' I must've! Silly me.' He took a tentative step backwards. The cloaked youth nodded hurriedly in agreement. 'You're a special sort of stupid, aren't ya? You must've missed the dozens of signs pointing to Pendrago on the way up.' The short guard sighed, waving a hand in the air. 'The gate was open… so I thought I'd just ask for directions… You know?' he finished weakly.

'I… was trying to get to the capital! I must've gone the wrong way or… something.' He scratched the back of his neck sheepishly, shifting restlessly on his feet. The young man waved his hands hurriedly in denial. 'The hell you doin' out here, kid? This here's private property, and I highly doubt you're on the guest list.' The short guard crossed his arms gruffly. 'H-hey, guys.' He smiled meekly in the face of their joint scrutiny. To their joint surprise, a young man in a strange-looking white cloak stumbled out of the shadows and into the light of their lanterns, holding the palms of his hands out disarmingly. 'Halt!' he yelled, his voice echoing off the surrounding foothills. 'What the…' Suddenly, the taller of the two came to a halt, his eyes narrowing as he raised his lantern above his head. The guard sighed irritably once more, shaking his head as he resigned himself to his patrol duties. It was more like a castle than anything – a monument to the wealth and prestige of the owner. '…Meaning we'll be here until the sun rises.' the shorter of the two clicked his tongue sourly, turning his gaze towards the distant figures of undoubtedly well-dressed people hurriedly walking through the cold air into the wide-open entrance of the four-story manor at the end of the gardens. 'We're out here until the party ends, whenever that might be. 'Better get used to it.' His companion swept the dim beam of his own lantern around before the two of them as they rounded a corner, passing a life-sized marble statue in the process. 'Whatever.' the guard who had sneezed replied shortly, readjusting the flickering lantern in his hand. 'They're called Hors d'oeuvres.' he pointed out offhandedly. His companion, a taller, similarly armored man walking alongside him, didn't react to his loud complaints. 'While the rest of the guys are inside, living it up with the guests and probably sampling those hor-whatevers, we're out here freezing our butts off in the cold!' 'Perimeter duty, tonight! Of all nights!' He let out a moan of anguish, running his gauntlet through his hair. 'Damnit.' he grumbled, his breath misting into the cold air. The man who had sneezed sniffed disdainfully, roughly wiping his nose with the back of his leather gauntlet. Chirping accompanied the noise of the distant chatter, sung by crickets scattered about the vast expanse of well-groomed hedges and flowerbeds of the estate gardens, cordoned off by meandering stone pathways that cut through the dark.Ī loud and raucous sneeze echoed loudly throughout the grounds, rudely interrupting the calm of the darkened estate gardens and echoing off the surrounding foothills. Men and women disembarking from their horse-drawn carriages chattered with lively tones in front of the well-lit manor standing in the distance, detached from the calm and tranquility of the shadowed gardens below. In the distance, past the sea of crop carpeting the rolling hills of the Pearloats Pasture, the lights of the walled capital glowed with a quiet vibrance at odds with the lonely solitude of the foothills. The crescent moon hung amidst a sea of stars and beamed a soft, gentle light down upon the foothills overlooking the darkened farmland.

Gramps pipe tales of zestiria