#cohavevent01

Note: If I missed anything of importance, please let me know! This is all done by admin knowledge and reading through the tag, which is why I can't stress using the tags enough!

20:00, November the 8th, 50 P.C. - Cohav Event 01 Plot Update.

Richard St. James looks out over the crowd from his throne. Hundreds of people are milling about, moving to and from the feast area after a long day of tournaments, sales and forced interaction. The look on his face is disinterested at best. It was Father Regnus’s idea to host the festival, and a battle he wisely chose not to fight. If the Church wants a huge day, celebrating his family’s victory, so be it. The day will only be sweetened with his upcoming news.

Richard isn’t stupid. He watches his son with thinly veiled disappointment as he mopes about. The best on the playground because no one wanted his disfavor. Smartest youth in the castle because nobody wanted to face his wrath. Second place in a chess tournament, because one man had little regard for his life and the ability to eat solid foods. He’s sure Julian has already abused the Royal Guard into tracking the man down and beating him senseless. Richard only hopes the poor fool can run, fast.

It isn’t that he doesn’t care about his son, it’s that he knows Julian will never be a fit ruler. He’s too used to being handed things, a product of his own doing. Oh well. The time has come though, he can feel the icy hands and hard stares. He’s outstayed his welcome, caught on to too much, and his time will be done too soon, much like his father before him, and his father before him. He loves his son, he really does, and Richard had hoped his methods would keep Julian away from the throne. He has failed; his kingdom will feel it for the years to come.

The heralds call forth for gathering and quiet, and Richard gets to his feet. His thick furs and jeweled robes call attention to his looming presence, and the entire square quiets before him obediently awaiting the words of their king. He has to keep it short.

Aurora walks, still clutching her bow, out of the crowds of people and tries to avoid as many people as she can. She doesn't want anyone to recognize her and the noise is simply too much for her at the moment. She finds a grassy area outside of a couple tents she can hide behind.

She sits down in the grass, sets her bow off to her side, and attempts to keep her clothing somewhat pristine. She is aware of how silly that must seem but old habits really do die hard. She always learned that a lady a must look her best in any given situation. Even one where her head feels like it's about to burst open. She begins to massage her temples and shuts her eyes tight. The white light, at least, seems to be fading from her vision but the pain remains. 

"I am far, far too sober for this."

Liam grumbled, to no-one in particular. He was pretty sure none of the workers with him were even listening. The statement wasn't particularly all that accurate anyway, he supposed. 'Hungover' would probably have been a better word to have used. 

He didn't particularly see the point of cleaning out the bloody bogs anyway. They would only be filthy again by the end of the day. It was all for the hoity-toity nobles, really. Sighing, he threw the... Frankly filthy rag into the latrine. And that was saying something, coming from the mind of a slumrat.

Was he even getting paid for this? Or was it 'voluntary service for the Church'? A scowl crossed his features. He hadn't been listening properly at the talk earlier. 

Well, he wasn't working if he wasn't getting paid! Liam stood, glanced around himself and simply slipped away from the rest of them. Leave them too it. He couldn't say he was particularly concerned about getting into trouble. 

The crisp air snaps across Malik's face as he turns back to look at his companion. The sun is just peaking over the edge of the world, and Mal can't think of a better time to be alive. Rodric has his stoic look on his face and Mal rolls his eyes at him, a clear jest, and turns back to the fairground entrance. The coast is entirely clear, with only a squire or two running around, looking for morning mead or warm towels for their dainty little knights. 

It's no secret that Malik loves money. To be the king of thieves, you have to at least admire it. The opportunity for a chivalrous, rigged match is just too much for him to pass up, and everyone in the kingdom knows the heavy spenders and lords always bet their weight in gold on jousting. Knights, with all of their pomp and training, as just as good as their equipment. So, a weighed piece here and a slight tweak there, and Mal's purse - and more importantly, the Crooked Court's purse - is a bit heavier at the expense of an overcompensating jackass. The thought puts a smirk on Mal's face.

"Why the long face, Rodric? It's a gorgeous morning for sabotage. Perk up." Malik's dimples crease in as he smiles his eyes flash with early morning mist and mischief. He reaches for a solid wood plank, wraps his fingers around it, and pulls. It's a light strain on his biceps and then he is over the fence and landing on the freshly cut grass with a slight jingle. His fingers wrap around the small weights, custom designs, and they cease their clatter. A second later Rodric is next to him, and Mal is scanning the nearest tents, looking for a familiar crest. Jackpot.